Becoming
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl, ZA/AU. Starting Season 1. Prequel to "Daddy," but can stand alone. His old man had always taught him that men were born to be just what they were and nothing more, but life was teaching Daryl that we are all always in a constant state of becoming—and we can become so much more than we may have once believed possible.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This is the "back story" to "Daddy," but it's also simply a Caryl story starting in season 1. I asked what everyone wanted and it was pretty much a toss-up between a separate story and flashbacks. I toyed with it a bit and decided to put the chapters as a separate story. In the "Daddy" story, I'll still be alluding to their past as I normally would in a story, but this way the actual detailed backstory is separate. This allows those that are not interested to avoid reading it, and it also allows those interested in this story to not read the other if they don't want to.**

 **If you are interested, however, I'll be exploring their early days throughout the story. This is not going to be some amazingly original story, so if that's what you're looking for then you might want to read something else. If you're looking for a nice story that's a little different than canon and follows our two lovebirds, this might be the story for you. This whole thing is a bit of (I admit) self-indulgent "write what you feel like writing/want to write" fluff and stuff for me, so I'm just going to write where the inspiration is. I hope it may be something that you can enjoy as well.**

 **At any rate, if you do read, I hope that you enjoy! As always, I greatly appreciate when you let me know what you think!**

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Daryl's father had tried to impart very little wisdom upon his two sons. Every now and again, though, he'd gone spouting off bullshit that both of them had tried to forget. Some of it stuck there, somewhere between Daryl's ears. The few words that he remembered his father saying rang back to him from time to time. His old man said that a man was just born to be what the hell he was born to be. He'd never be any more than that. Some were born to be something and others were simply born to be nothing. Some men, like Daryl and his brother Merle, were mostly born to be a waste of time and space.

If Daryl was looking to blame someone, he might say that it was his old man's words that had held him and Merle back in life. Maybe, if it hadn't been for everything his old man had said, they both might've done something more with their lives. They might've gotten up in the morning, washed their faces, and become something more than what the hell they'd become. Maybe both of them would've been white-collar businessman making some kind of change in the world. Instead, they'd spent most of their lives doing blue-collar jobs that they abandoned too frequently to ever turn the jobs into something that paid a decent wage or promised some kind of future.

More than anything else, Merle and Daryl didn't finish anything. Maybe that's how they were meant to be.

Between the two of them, they never had a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of, so to speak, but that's all that people like them were ever meant to have. There was really no need in wanting more when you didn't deserve it, and when you weren't likely to have it. Wanting what the hell you couldn't have would only lead to disappointment.

Daryl knew about wanting when he couldn't have, and maybe Merle, but Merle had a better grasp on hiding shit. He was Daryl's older brother by nearly a decade, and he'd had a lot more time to get used to their lot in life. When Daryl thought about the way the life could be, or maybe the way that it should be, he saw the fairytale story—or, at the very least, some kind of cheap and watered down redneck fairytale. He saw himself with a wife, a couple of kids, and maybe a dog. But that kind of shit wasn't what the hell someone like him got. It wasn't what the hell someone like him deserved.

His old man had made that clear.

Merle and Daryl weren't worth shit, and no self-respecting woman was going to want a man who was made just to ruin her life.

When it came to women, Merle seemed to understand more about what they deserved than Daryl did. He got everything it would seem that their old man thought they deserved. He got a veritable rainbow of venereal diseases, and he got lucky that everything he'd caught so far could be cured with antibiotics. He got women that didn't stick around, and he got women that nobody would have wanted to stick around. Whether or not he was satisfied with what he got, Merle seemed to accept his lot in life.

Daryl went the other way. Since he wasn't good enough to have what he wanted, he figured that he'd just do without. It wasn't worth the effort to end up with something—or someone— that was just a thorn in his side.

Daryl had come to accept that his old man was right and things just were the way they were. Some people got what they wanted, and some people got just what they deserved. Some of them, like Daryl and Merle, ought to be damn happy that they got anything at all since they barely deserved the air that they breathed.

At least when the world went to shit, Daryl and Merle Dixon didn't have much to lose.

Of course Daryl had wondered for some time how it was that certain assholes—of the variety that it struck him to believe didn't deserve to have shit—somehow got lucky enough to get all the things that Daryl, himself, just wasn't good enough to have.

His old man was one of those such assholes. He'd been an asshole of the greatest degree—and half the contributor of life to Merle and Daryl—but he'd ended up with a wife that was too damn good for him and two sons. Maybe his wife hadn't been a top-shelf prize, and maybe his sons hadn't turned out to be worth much, but he'd still gotten pretty much everything out of life that a man could really hope for.

And he'd pissed it all away. But he'd still gotten it.

Daryl couldn't quite understand, growing up, exactly how it was that the lots were drawn in life.

And those thoughts continued to baffle him as he aged.

Daryl couldn't stand Ed Peletier's presence for more than five minutes at a stretch. Practically the very sight of the man drove Daryl to fits, and every time he opened his mouth, Daryl felt moved to chew a hole in the side of his face to keep from saying something that would surely piss Ed off.

Daryl didn't really give two shits if he offended Ed Peletier for Ed's sake, but rather that, if he offended him, he knew that Ed would take his frustration out on his wife's face instead of on Daryl's where his frustration should have been directed.

If he'd been the kind that would have thrown a punch at Daryl, Daryl would have insulted him often and early on. Then, when Ed's fist came in his direction, it would have opened up the gates for Daryl to come out swinging. It would have given Daryl the chance to pound on the sorry asshole for a little while without anybody jumping in to scold him for his actions. But Ed Peletier would never throw that punch. Not at Daryl. Because Ed Peletier was the kind of man who punched his wife in the face instead of throwing punches at someone who could whip his ass for him like he deserved.

Ed was an even bigger coward then Daryl's old man, because at least Daryl's old man had been known to go a few rounds with assholes his own size. There was no doubt about it, he'd beaten his wife and his kids, but his anger and his brutality didn't stop there. Ed, however, only doled out punches to the small-framed woman that he called his wife. The woman that, once upon a time, he must have promised to love and cherish. He knew she couldn't physically overpower him, and so he gave her fresh bruises daily to wear on her face and arms.

Yet, somehow, a man like that was the kind of man who had managed to deserve the little petite wife with the pretty face that he fucked up with his fists. He was somehow born to be the kind of man who had a tiny baby girl—born so close to the moment when the world went to shit that Daryl wasn't really sure if she was born into this world of chaos or if she'd been born before, in the world that seemed ever more distant from reality. And, after everything had gone down and the world had sat back to count their losses, a man like Ed Peletier had managed to be born the kind of man who deserved to keep everything. He'd lost nothing.

But people like Daryl—who dreamed of having what Ed seemed content to shit on—seemingly deserved just about as much as Ed had lost.

Daryl watched Ed from a distance, always trying to pretend that he had less interest in the woman that his brother called a mouse than he really did. He didn't want to stir up any kind of jealousy in Ed. Daryl didn't want to stir up any kind of negative feelings in Ed. Anything that got stirred up, he knew, would only be bad for the woman.

Her name was Carol, and she deserved more than that. She deserved more than Ed.

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"I'm sorry you lost your brother."

Daryl couldn't expect her to say that she was sorry that they had lost Merle. Merle hadn't been a very good addition to their group. He'd been drugged out of his damn mind since they'd found the group. He'd been hyped up on some crystal, or some shit that Daryl couldn't name, that he'd found while they been raiding houses in search of anything that could help them survive. Nobody in the group was going to miss Merle, except for Daryl, and maybe Daryl only missed him because he was the only thing that Daryl still had from his old life. He was really the only thing that Daryl had ever had. And now he was gone, but the worst part about it was that he was gone without really being entirely gone. He had disappeared. He had vanished. But Daryl didn't know if he was really gone, or if he was still out there, somewhere, and only gone from Daryl.

He thought about telling Carol that the Merle she knew, hyped up on whatever the hell he'd been taking, was just the Merle that was seeking some kind of comfort for some long-buried pain he had inside him. He just wanted some relief from the ache—and nothing had taken it away yet. Maybe nothing ever would. But he wasn't the Merle that he could be when he was sober and he had a taste of hope for the future. He certainly wasn't the Merle that Daryl believed he could be if the comfort that he sought was made readily available to him in some kind of entirely different and less-destructive form.

Daryl didn't tell Carol anything about Merle, because he found that he really couldn't find the words to say anything that meant anything at all. Instead, he simply offered her a half-grumbled thanks for the small act of kindness she'd done him by acknowledging his loss.

It was more than anyone else had done.

"Do you want to come and have some fish?" She asked.

As much as he might like to pretend that he was contemplating some kind of starvation because of the sadness he felt over the loss of his brother, he was hungry, and he knew that food was scarce. When they had it, they had to eat it. Daryl got up from his spot, and started to follow Carol back toward the camp where everyone was gathered to enjoy what was a feast to all of them after some pretty meagre days.

Carol's sleeping daughter was strapped close to her body in the carrier that the roughly six month old baby had probably spent most of her life in. The bruises on Carol's face were fresh, as was the busted lip. It had all happened earlier that day. And it all happened while they were gone looking for Merle. This time, it all happened right out there in the open instead of behind the cover of their tent. With it all out in the open, Shane had felt like he could take advantage of the opportunity to relieve some frustration on Ed's face. Shane's frustration wasn't actually with Ed, but he'd used Ed just the same. Daryl appreciated that Shane's target had been that asshole. Daryl thought that if he'd been at the camp, he might have accepted Ed's public display of beating his wife as an invitation to finally do what he'd been thinking about doing since the first time he'd overheard the unmistakable sounds coming from their tent and seen Carol wearing purple marks on her skin over breakfast. Daryl might have given into his desires, and he might have done even more damage to Ed Peletier than Shane had. Shane, for his part, had made it so that Ed's face looked like it had had an unfortunate encounter with a meat grinder.

And still it didn't seem to be quite enough to Daryl, but there was nothing else to be done for the time being.

They would have to watch him. Whenever he came back into himself, he would beat Carol within an inch of her life. Maybe he'd actually kill her. And if the baby were around...

Daryl had heard him say it more than once. The baby, Sophia, was just another mouth to feed. Maybe the asshole didn't realize that voices drifted through cloth tent sides. Maybe he didn't realize that they carried out there where there was nothing to be heard at night beyond the hoot of the occasional owl or the song of some bullfrogs serenading each other. Ed said that the baby would get them all killed with her crying.

Sophia, for her part, cried a great deal less than Daryl had actually imagined a baby would cry—not that he'd ever spent a great deal of time in the company of infants.

Ed said that her crying would get them all killed because the monsters would hear her and come looking for them.

He wasn't the only one to grumble about that. Daryl had heard several members of the group complain about the baby. This wasn't the world for babies, they said, as though her mother had had the opportunity to time things just right, and as though she'd had some advanced knowledge about the impending doom that the world was facing. They acted as though she'd had the child just to spite all of them.

Daryl hated to tell them all that they were a bunch of fucking idiots and that, if they got killed, it would most likely be because most of them didn't know to watch their own ass with a mirror in their hands.

Daryl wouldn't be surprised, when Ed's face healed up a bit, if he was feeling angry and ready to hurt someone. Daryl wouldn't be surprised if, finding himself too chickenshit to hurt Shane like he would want to, Ed went after Carol to hurt her instead. He wouldn't be surprised if the asshole, seeking to hurt her in the greatest way possible, went after that little baby.

Daryl decided right then and there, following Carol toward the fire to eat fish, that he'd watch Ed Peletier like a hawk. If he so much as made a questionable move, he would find that Daryl was waiting for him.

Daryl had a lot of his own anger to relieve, after all, at the injustices of this world. He'd been born, according to his old man from whom he must have inherited something, to be the kind of asshole that relieved anger with his fists. He might as well let Ed Peletier be on the receiving end of that anger—especially if Ed needed somebody to fight so badly that he was willing to go after his wife and daughter.

Daryl would give him someone to fight if he needed it. Someone who had been born for little else.

He couldn't fight nature, after all.

He was just a man—and a man was born to be just what the hell he was and not a damn thing more.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I don't know if I need to say this, but this is only going to follow the show loosely. There are a lot of changes that I'm going to be making throughout the story.**

 **At any rate, here's another chapter.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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The Walkers could sometimes be a great deal stealthier than others. Sometimes they had the benefit of hearing them coming, and other times it was a surprise.

That night it had been an unpleasant surprise to say the least.

Amy was the first indication that they were surrounded by Walkers. She was bit before she even knew that they were surrounded. The giant herd of Walkers plowed through the camp, killed whoever they could, and did their best to feast on the flesh of everyone else.

They weren't prepared. That was going to be their downfall in the end. As a group, they were truly ill-prepared for the world that they called home now.

Most of their group members were unarmed. They had been enjoying dinner and they'd acted like they were untouchable. They'd forgotten that their reason for being out there like they were wasn't a family camping trip at the rock quarry. When the Walkers had surrounded them, they'd had little choice except to run—and running really only got them so far.

Of course, many of them, even if they had been armed, would have been pretty unable to protect themselves. They were counting on others to be able to keep them safe during everything that happened. Only some of them were really able, though, to protect themselves and offer protection to others.

Daryl was made for this world. He and his brother both were. It wasn't bragging as long as it was truth. That's what Daryl believed. And both Daryl and Merle had skills that were necessary to keep themselves and others alive.

Daryl was always armed and he always had something else close by to increase his ability to protect himself and others. Rick, Shane, and Dale also typically had some kind of protection. Still, that much protection didn't go far when the Walkers were everywhere and people were scrambling for safety. Daryl had helped to keep off as many of the creatures as he could while Rick had helped to get arms in the hands of those who might be able to use them. Then, together, they'd all done their best to get rid of the monsters one by one.

When all was finally still, it was still dark. Everyone was shaky, mourning their lost, and afraid that every little shifting sound belonged to another Walker that was waiting to take a bite out of one of them. There was nothing they could do until the morning came. They couldn't bury their dead—they couldn't even find most of them—until the sun rose. At that point, using flashlights or lamps to work in the dark would do nothing except draw more Walkers to their camp—more than the ones that would probably come following all the sounds that the night had offered—and they certainly weren't prepared for that. Everyone did what they had to do, and they simply found a place to sit and wait until they could see enough to figure out what their next moves were.

Dale sat with Andrea as she kept vigil over the body of her little sister—the first to die. Lori had taken her son inside the RV that Dale had brought with him, along with some of the other children of the camp, and Rick and Shane kept watch like sentinels outside. Each of them kept something of a guard over opposite ends of the RV. Here and there, people huddled together and tried to soothe each other's suffering.

Daryl found Carol sitting only a short distance away from everyone, but slightly removed, on some old car seats that they'd placed around to serve as a place to rest. He invited himself to sit with her without a word, though he made sure to put a little empty space between them. He didn't want her to think he was encroaching on her space, he was simply sharing the seating area.

In her arms, the baby slept.

"You don't hardly ever put her down, do you?" Daryl asked.

"What?" Carol asked.

She was clearly not paying attention to him. She was clearly lost in her own thoughts—and of course she would be. They knew enough to know that the Walkers had come through the back part of their camp. It was the area where their tents had been set up and most of the tents had been torn down as the monsters had come stomping through them. A quick trip back to that area to make sure that the Walkers were done roaming around had confirmed that anyone back there was no longer a living member of the group.

Carol's husband, Ed Peletier, had been in their tent recovering from the mincemeat face that Shane had given him earlier.

Carol was a newly minted widow and, more than likely, she had a great deal on her mind. Daryl didn't know much about how one was supposed to go about comforting someone else. He especially didn't know how one was supposed to address a new widow. Maybe it wasn't even proper for him to be speaking to Carol and, perhaps, he wasn't supposed to speak to her about anything except her now-deceased husband.

But Daryl didn't want to talk about Ed Peletier, and he knew enough about their marriage to guess that Carol probably didn't want to talk about him too much either. Besides, Daryl had always cared very little for what one was supposed to do in any given situation. So, rather than try to come up with something more suitable to talk about, he simply repeated what he'd said in case Carol hadn't heard him before.

"The baby," he said. "You don't—you don't hardly put her down."

He heard a sound come from Carol and she readjusted her daughter in her arms.

"Sophia," she said.

"What?" Daryl asked.

"Sophia," Carol said. "Her name is...Sophia. The baby. She's...Sophia."

Daryl swallowed. Maybe he understood. Everyone talked about "the baby". The baby didn't sleep as much as they wanted her to, even though she slept a great deal. The baby made too many sounds, and she got too loud, even though many of them were a little over-the-top if they were trying to keep quiet. The baby cried too much, even though she hardly ever cried in Daryl's opinion.

The baby was a threat to all of them.

But the baby was, actually, just a baby. And her name was Sophia.

"Sophia," Daryl said quietly. "Sophia. Yeah—I got it. Pretty name."

"It was my grandmother's name," Carol said.

Daryl hummed. He wasn't too sure how one was supposed to respond to that, but he felt he should offer something. He'd already said it was a pretty name, so there was no need to reiterate that.

"I don't know my grandma's name," Daryl said. "She was dead—at least as long as I could remember. My grandfather was Norman."

Daryl was pretty sure that he heard Carol laugh quietly.

"I like it," Carol said.

"I liked him," Daryl offered. "He died when I was a kid."

"I'm terrified to put her down," Carol said after a moment of silence had passed between them.

"What?" Daryl asked.

"You said that I hold her all the time," Carol said. "I'm terrified to put her down."

"He's gone," Daryl said. "He won't hurt her now." Immediately Daryl realized that his words had slipped out of his mouth without checking with his brain first. He'd thought it and he'd let it come out. He'd never backed up to think whether or not he should say that to a new widow—or to any woman at all. "Sorry," he added quickly. "Fuck...I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Carol said. "You're right. He would've hurt her. And he was one of the reasons that I never put her down. But he wasn't the only reason. It would only take a second and one of these—monsters..."

"They all cleared outta here," Daryl said.

"For how long?" Carol asked. Daryl got the feeling that the question wasn't really directed at him as much as it was simply a question that she was asking the universe.

Daryl relaxed into the car seat. With everything happening around them—people talking in hushed tones, and the sound of weeping coming from nearly every direction—it felt like they were a world away. It felt like they were removed from everything and watching it from a distance. It felt like the two of them, sharing car seats in the Georgia woods, were in some kind of remote bubble.

And, as out of place as the emotion felt, Daryl felt comfortable and relaxed.

When they'd first gotten there, Carol hadn't spoken much to Daryl or his brother. Daryl had figured, at first, that she simply thought that she was better than them like everyone else at the camp. She would've been right, too. Most of them, probably, were better than any Dixon. It didn't mean, though, that they didn't still appreciate being talked to like people every now and again.

As time had gone on, though, and Daryl had become aware of her situation, he'd realized that Carol's reluctance to speak to the two of them had very little to do with them and very much to do with her husband. He simply didn't want her to speak to anyone and she tried to what he wanted—lest he take his frustrations out on her body.

She was easy to speak to when her husband wasn't overshadowing her. He'd only been gone a matter of hours at the most and she already seemed like an entirely different person—the kind that didn't mind sitting and talking to a Dixon like she would anybody else, like they were friends.

"They gone for the night at least," Daryl said. His stomach twisted a little. He knew that it wasn't just the Walkers that she worried about. It hadn't been just her husband. The grumbling about the child wasn't exactly kept under wraps, and she had to be aware of it. The worst part about it, perhaps, was that the grumbling was unfounded. It was just a way of finding something or someone to blame. It had, unfortunately, been the woman's child who had caught the brunt of that blame being tossed around like a hot potato. "Nobody else's gonna bother her none, either," Daryl offered after a moment's thought. "But you oughta get some sleep. She's gonna need you to be awake tomorrow. On your game. We got a lot we gotta do."

"I can't sleep," Carol said. "Not like this. Not after tonight."

"Gonna be a lot of tonights that you gotta sleep after," Daryl said. "These seats ain't half bad as far as places to sleep go these days."

Carol sat there a moment, cradling her daughter, and stared off at nothing. Daryl might have thought she was sleeping, but there was just enough moonlight to catch the moisture in her eyes and tell him that she was awake.

"I'ma be up," he offered. "Keepin' watch. Get some sleep. Don't need everybody staggerin' aroud half-dead tomorrow."

"She'll wake up soon," Carol said.

"Then you'll deal with that when you come to it," Daryl said.

Daryl wasn't sure how she'd respond to him being somewhat forceful with her, but she seemed to take it well. She listened to him, at least, and she stretched out over the car seats surrounding her. Stretching out caused her to touch Daryl as she lie down with her head next to him and her daughter cushioned between herself and the back of the seats.

"Sorry," she breathed out.

"You fine," Daryl offered. "Don't bother me."

And he realized that he wasn't lying. It didn't bother him at all. In fact, he liked her being so close to him. He had always been the kind that got lonely. He'd always been the kind that craved some kind of closeness.

A fucking enigma.

That's what his brother, Merle, had always called him.

A fucking enigma. The sweet one. Baby brother.

Daryl couldn't stand people because he'd learned, for the most part, that people were despicable on the whole. However, that didn't mean that he didn't long to find some good people out there that could fill his need to be around them. So far, he'd only really found Merle that he could stomach since they'd lost both their parents. Merle liked to pretend that he and Daryl were completely different, but they weren't. Not at all in a lot of ways. Merle craved connection with people as well, but he simply sought it in different ways than Daryl. And maybe Merle—big brother and never baby brother—wasn't what one would typically label as sweet, but he wasn't who he pretended to be, either.

They had stuck together as long as they had because neither of them, if they were being entirely honest and their masks were stripped away, could stand the idea of being alone. They needed each other because they both needed someone—and nobody else would ever be there for the likes of them.

Now Merle was gone, though.

Daryl didn't know if he wished that Merle was alive out there, or if he preferred to think that Merle was dead because he didn't like to think of how his brother might feel—abandoned on a rooftop by group members that didn't know who he really was, or at least who he wanted to be, to cut off his own hand for survival against the elements. He didn't want to think how his brother might feel wandering around, hurt and alone, without anyone or anything.

It might be better if Merle were simply dead somewhere. At least, then, Daryl might believe that he'd found some of the peace and comfort that he'd spent most of his life searching for in some of the worst ways possible.

Dead, for Merle, was probably a great deal better than alone.

Because even though they pretended that they didn't need a single soul, being alone was a hard thing for a Dixon to stomach.

For someone who couldn't sleep, Carol's breathing had evened out pretty quickly. Daryl could feel the warmth of her from her proximity. He didn't miss the fact that she'd fallen asleep in his presence—under some pretty terrible circumstances—lulled by nothing more than sheer exhaustion and the promise that he was keeping watch. He didn't miss that fact at all, and it made his chest catch in an odd sort of way.

Daryl shifted and got comfortable, but not comfortable enough so that he would fall asleep and fail to keep his promise to the woman sleeping next to him with her baby girl hugged safely against her body.

At least tonight, Daryl wasn't going to be alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl was tired of dragging bodies and driving pickaxes through brains, but it had to be done. He would have preferred if it didn't need to be done in such sweltering conditions, though. The flies buzzed around him, and he wasn't sure if their interest was in his sweat or the blood and guts that coated him while he worked.

Rotting corpses from the Walkers to one side. They went into the fire.

People they knew to the other side. They were bound up in sheets and buried.

Some of them were so chewed up that it was difficult to tell which group they belonged to.

Daryl stood over what was left of Carol's husband and nudged the corpse with his foot. Whoever had been responsible for cleaning up that area of the camp had sort of piled up the bodies to be "dealt with" so that they wouldn't come back. The body of Ed Peletier had fallen into a pile that was a mix of Walkers and people they knew.

He was so chewed up that Daryl had almost mistaken him for a Walker and sent him off to be burned. It was only his realization that the flesh that remained didn't look too rotted that had made him stop a moment.

The asshole that had tortured Carol for as long as Daryl had known her was reduced to this—and there wasn't much there.

Daryl lifted his lip at the corpse before he wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and reached to retrieve the pickaxe that he'd dropped a moment to let his screaming muscles rest.

"I'll do it."

Daryl jumped when he heard her voice. He turned to see her walking up. Her daughter, as always, was present. The baby was awake and strapped to her mother's chest. Carol rested her hand on her daughter's back as she walked.

"What?" Daryl asked.

"It's Ed," Carol said. "Someone said that—that he was over here. It's him, isn't it?"

"I think so," Daryl admitted.

"I'll do it," Carol said.

She reached for the pickaxe and Daryl pulled it back before she could grab it. He shook his head at her.

"You don't gotta," he said. "I can do it."

He was sure that the man was an asshole, but he had still been Carol's husband. She had still had some feelings for him at some point in her life. Daryl didn't want to assume that he'd managed to kill each and every one of those feelings—even if he somewhat guessed that he had since she seemed to be not at all grief stricken over her loss.

"I should do it," Carol said. "I need to. He was—he was my husband."

She reached for the pickaxe again and Daryl handed it over. It sagged a little in her grip. It was probably heavier than she expected.

"You want me to—hold the baby or somethin'?" Daryl asked.

It didn't need to be asked because, before he could get the words out, Carol had already lifted up the pickaxe and let it find its mark. Daryl heard the crunch as it made contact. The baby, resting against her mother's chest, was as unbothered as she could be. She spent all her time with her mother. She rode along when her mother cleaned, cooked, and did any other odd job that they assigned her. She was equally unmoved to be there while her mother rid the world—once and for all—of her father as she had been for any other task that they'd done together.

Carol didn't just accept that Ed was gone after the first swing, though, and hand the pickaxe over like Daryl thought she might. Instead, she lifted it again, this time with a little more energy behind it, and swung it once more at the corpse.

Daryl watched her. She was crying, but it was quiet crying—not the ugly bawling that some people were doing today. Daryl assumed, too, that her crying was different than the crying of others. He didn't want to be presumptuous, but he had a feeling that her tears weren't over the loss of her husband as much as they were simply the release of emotions that she'd pent up for so long.

Eventually she gave the pickaxe back to Daryl and wiped her face with the back of her arm before she walked off. She didn't say anything to Daryl about what had happened. She didn't say anything about the fact that she'd crushed the skull of her once-husband to the point that it was unrecognizable as even a skull. He wouldn't bother even trying to collect most of it up when he dragged the almost-headless body to be bound up and buried.

Maybe she thought there was nothing left to say and Daryl, for his part, didn't say anything to her.

He did notice, though, that she never came to see about Ed's body. And when they took the bodies up to be buried, she never once walked over to the hole where he was thrown to say goodbye. She'd bid Amy farewell, and she'd hugged Andrea and comforted her over her loss, but she'd never said goodbye to Ed. Nobody had said goodbye to Ed.

Daryl had covered the sorry son of a bitch over with dirt. And even he hadn't told him goodbye as he'd shoveled the earth back into place.

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"We can't stay here," Daryl said. "I don't give a damn where you wanna go, but we can't stay here."

Daryl had ended up stumbling into what appeared to be a decision making meeting by accident. He'd gone to take a piss and he'd overheard something. He hadn't been paying attention to Rick and Shane, and he didn't realize that they'd isolated themselves from the rest of the group, so he was surprised to find them some short distance from the group talking about the future of everyone there like they didn't have the sense to have a say in it.

When he'd mentioned that fact, he'd been told that it was easier to have a plan to present to the group. Many of them didn't have opinions and the rest were too shook up to want to offer anything. They just wanted some idea of what was going to happen, and it would be better if they decided that together and offered the information to the group.

Daryl had invited himself to be part of the decision making process.

"I vote we get as far away as we can as quickly as we can," Shane said. "From everything we've seen, there's nothing left. At least not around here. Atlanta's done. We can assume that it wasn't the only city the government cleaned out. We stand a better chance going further out. Away from the city. We don't catch as many Walkers that way."

"They were probably clearing out the dead," Rick said. "Trying to control the Walkers."

"They were killing people," Shane said. "You didn't see what we saw, Rick."

"Atlanta's still there," Rick said. "We know it is. The government probably moved underground. They would try to find somewhere safe to regroup. They'd build safe communities. We just have to figure out where they are."

"Burned to the ground," Shane said. "Blown up. There's nobody out there looking for us, Rick. If they were, they'd have found us by now. You didn't see the bombs. You didn't hear—you didn't hear what we heard."

"I'm not one who's all gung-ho for trusting the government," Daryl said. "But I ain't gonna say there ain't nothin' out there, either. It seems impossible to me to think that the whole world's just gone when I ain't seen more'n a hundred mile radius. Still—we gotta go some damn where an' we oughta move 'fore the sun sets. It ain't safe here no more. There was enough shootin' last night that it was like the fuckin' Alamo. All this wailin' an' tears today—every damn thing else? We know we're catchin' their attention and we ain't done nothin' to lessen that attention. If we had us another bunch tonight like we had last night, they'll wipe us all out."

"We move out," Shane said. "We put some distance between us and here. We head toward wherever we might be going. We regroup when things look clear. When the sun comes up in the morning. We figure out where we're going then."

"We just leave?" Rick asked. "That's it? You want to go and tell everyone to pack up and head out and we don't even tell them where we're going? Nobody's going to want to go along with that plan. They're going to want to know where we're going. They're going to want to know that we have a plan. After what happened last night, they're going to need that more than ever before. Nobody wants to know that we're just wandering blindly."

"Sounds like words comin' from a man with a plan," Daryl said. "Most of us got here from wandering. We didn't have a plan when the world went to shit. You got a plan, officer?"

Rick looked at him and Daryl wasn't sure if it was a friendly look or not. Rick Grimes wasn't exactly crazy about Daryl. Daryl knew that already. They hadn't known each other very long at all, but already their history was a little rocky.

Rick Grimes had handcuffed Daryl's brother Merle to a roof and he'd left him there. Daryl might understand some of the reasoning behind everything that had happened, but that didn't mean that it made things easier to stomach. Daryl's first reaction hadn't been very positive—and Rick had been only slightly understanding. He had gone with Daryl, though, to look for Merle. They'd found Merle's hand and a trail of blood that simply suggested that Merle had gotten himself out of the building and he was gone.

Rick didn't approve of Merle and, more than likely, he didn't approve of Daryl. Daryl didn't give a shit if Rick liked him. They were all in this together for the time being, and that was all that really mattered.

"The CDC," Rick said. "In case of a disaster, the government would keep it running. It would never shut down so long as anything still existed."

"So what, we go there?" Daryl asked.

"If there's anybody who would know about places to go, or anywhere where we could information about safe places, the CDC would be the place where we would find answers," Rick said. "Besides that—Jim is bit. The CDC can offer us some answers about how to handle that. Maybe they've even got some kind of cure if we can make it there."

He sounded so damned sure of himself that Daryl assumed he must know what he was talking about. Daryl looked at Shane. The man's brow was furrowed, but he didn't look like he was really prepared to argue with Rick. When he spoke, it was clear that he didn't intend to argue.

"We need to break camp before the sun goes down," Shane said.

"We can travel slow," Daryl said. "Keep movin' through the night. Take just the vehicles we need to get there to save on gas. Where's the CDC?"

"Atlanta," Rick said. "Glenn showed us a way into the city that was pretty clear. We could probably make our way through there in the cars as long as we take our time and don't get in too big of a hurry. How are the Walkers with cars?"

"Like deer," Daryl said. "They'll run right into 'em. Try to get in if you stopped an' they can smell you or whatever the hell they do. They don't tend to get too bunched up just if you sittin' there quiet."

"We'll run into trouble with the baby," Shane said. "We could sleep on the road. In the cars when we need to. The rest of us can be quiet, but she'll bring the Walkers down on us."

Rick hummed his agreement and looked around like he was coming up with some solution. He looked around like he might pull some answer out of the sky.

What the hell kind of answer could there be to a so-called problem like the one that Shane had presented except the same kind of barbaric answer that Ed Peletier's sorry ass had offered more than once?

"Fuck that," Daryl said, even though neither of them had given voice to what he could practically hear them thinking. "She's a baby. Just a fuckin' kid! She don't know shit except she's hungry an' she's wet an' all that. What the hell you gonna do? Pack the whole camp up an' leave Carol an' the baby sittin' out here alone to die?"

"Nobody said anything about leaving anyone," Rick said. His tone had taken on that annoying-as-shit cop tone that he used. It was his way of calming people down, but it did the exact opposite for Daryl.

"You got a man in a fuckin' RV that is bit. Bit. By one of these things. That's a game-over card. But you're ready to haul his ass to the CDC just as quick as you can get him there an' you talkin' about this baby like—like you disgusted by her. Like you gotta figure out how to get rid of her 'cause she's so damned dangerous."

"There's no need to overreact, Daryl," Shane offered. "We need to be aware of the challenges we're going to face moving forward."

"Fuckin' challenges," Daryl said. "Fuck that. We'll go to the CDC. You tell everybody to pack their shit an' we'll move the fuck out. Don't'cha worry about the baby. Carol an' her can ride with me in the truck. If she brings Walkers down on us while we're travelin', I'll handle it. And if I can't fuckin' handle it—at least I know I tried. I don't got shit to live for no damned way. I'm goin' to pack."

Daryl walked off, leaving the officers standing where he'd found them. They'd wait there a while longer and talk things over. They'd pretend that they made the final call on things and that it hadn't been Daryl at all. They'd present the whole thing to the group and they'd move out.

Daryl wouldn't care, one way or another, how they presented things. He was only focused on getting his brother's motorcycle loaded in the back of the truck and his stuff packed so that he could make sure Carol had what she needed packed.

She didn't need to know why she was riding with Daryl if she couldn't figure it out. All she needed to know was they got elected to travel together to the CDC in the hopes that the government was ready to restore order to the world and the blessed news had, somehow, simply failed to reach them yet.

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 **AN: If you're reading "Daddy," then you might have seen where I said Carol kept Ed from reanimating with a "pitchfork". I meant pickaxe. It was an honest mistake.**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl gnawed at his cuticle and did his best to avert his eyes. There wasn't much to look at, though. It was dark and their procession was moving at a crawl because they were attempting to navigate with only one set of headlights burning to keep down the number of Walkers that their lights drew. Daryl could follow the taillights in front of him at the speed of idle without paying too much attention. Even if he was to rear-end Shane at this point, not much would happen to anyone in either of the vehicles.

His eyes were paying him no mind at all when he told them to stay on the road. They kept hopping back toward Carol. He knew it wasn't polite to stare. What she was doing was completely expected. Her child was hungry and she had to feed her. The only method she had of feeding the little one right now was offering her a breast.

It was rude to stare at her breasts while she fed her child, and Daryl felt that down to the very core of himself, but his eyes were assholes and didn't care about being rude any more than they seemed to care about listening to the signals that the polite part of his brain was offering.

It was dark enough in the truck that Daryl could see very little. Really, he could barely make out anything more than the fact that Carol was feeding Sophia. He could somewhat see her face when the brake lights glowed brightly, but that was it. It was more of a mental thing that made him keep nervously looking in her direction than the fact that he could actually see anything.

And Carol didn't seem to notice. She simply sat, staring down at her daughter or out of the windshield. If she knew that Daryl kept looking at her, she didn't let on to him.

Finally, starting to feel uncomfortable with the relative silence of the truck cab, Daryl cleared his throat.

"Uh—how much someone big as she is eat?" He asked.

"I'm sorry?" Carol asked after a second. She almost sounded like he'd woken her up, and he wondered if she was able to doze there in the truck while she rode and fed her daughter. He wasn't sure, though, how much she'd slept lately. This might be the most peace that she'd seen in a long time.

"I'm sorry if I—if I woke you up," Daryl said. "You can go back to sleep."

"No," Carol said. "No. You didn't wake me. I was—I was sort of dozing. But it's fine. I like the conversation. What did you say?"

"Your kid. Sophia. How much she eat? Someone her size—I mean."

Carol hummed.

"Do you want to know the truth?" She asked.

Daryl hummed in the affirmative. He bit his tongue so that he wouldn't point out that he wouldn't have asked the question if he didn't want some sort of response, and he wanted the truth because otherwise there was no need to have even asked the question. He could have made up a perfectly reasonable answer for himself if all he wanted was some false piece of information.

"I really don't know," Carol said. "I never—I never looked into it. I always meant to read all the books and learn all the information, but I thought there would be time. I never thought that—that all this would happen."

"How do you know how much to feed her, then?" Daryl asked.

"I feed her when she's hungry," Carol said. "And then I stop feeding her when she's full."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Yeah—I guess you don't need no book or nothin' to tell you that," he offered.

"She should be starting solid food sometime," Carol said. "Honestly I don't know much about that either. I just know that—the rations we have don't seem like a good thing to feed her. Those instant meals that Ed had."

"Hard on our guts," Daryl said. "Don't she eat like—baby food?"

"I don't have baby food," Carol said. "I wasn't prepared for this much time. I thought things would be back to normal in a couple of weeks...a month. Ed didn't give me much time to pack. He had everything he thought we would need."

"He weren't thinkin' about what the kid would need," Daryl offered, finishing the statement for her. She didn't respond. She didn't have to. He heard everything in her silence. He cleared his throat. "Sorry," he offered quietly.

"Don't apologize for noticing the way things are," Carol said. "Or were."

"Still gettin' used to it?" Daryl asked.

"I should feel sad," Carol said.

"We feel what the hell we feel," Daryl said. "That's all there is to it. If people want us to feel a certain damn way, then they oughta not work so damned hard to get us to feel different."

"It's true," Carol said, so quietly that she could barely be heard. Daryl heard her, though.

He looked for something to change the subject and steer it away from Ed and any other asshole that either of them might have known. Looking for positive things to talk about these days was difficult, though, and Daryl had never actually been much a grand conversationalist. He did alright talking with people who shared interests with him, but he certainly wasn't known for his ability to keep the party going.

"You—can't get no baby food?" Daryl asked. "I mean—Glenn ain't found none in all them places he's been?"

"I haven't asked," Carol said.

"Why not?" Daryl asked.

Carol was quiet for a moment. Sophia was unhappy with something about her situation. Carol turned her attention to her daughter. In the dark, and glancing out of the corner of his eye, all that Daryl could really tell was that she was changing the position of her daughter. The baby wasn't fond of the idea, but it didn't take too long before she settled down again. When Sophia was feeding once more, Daryl thought that they might just remain there in silence, but Carol broke the silence long enough to answer Daryl's question with a simple response—a question that he knew she didn't expect him to answer.

"Why do you think?"

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Daryl Dixon had no reason to be kind to her. He was under no obligation to treat Carol in any particular way. She'd only met Daryl and his brother, Merle, when they'd stumbled upon the camp and decided to stay with the group. They'd suggested that there was safety in numbers, but Carol got the feeling from both the Dixon men that they didn't need anybody. If they were seeking numbers, it was simply because they wanted to be around people.

Merle was crass and loud. He made off-color comments and had strong opinions about what should be done and how it should be done. He was often disappearing for stretches of time into the woods, and when he returned it would be clear that he'd been partaking of something that had left him nearly stripped of his senses. Daryl hadn't seemed fond of his brother at those moments.

But it had been clear that Daryl had loved his brother as much as anyone could love their sibling—even if the men weren't keen on expressing their affections with words and overt gestures.

Daryl was different than Merle. He wasn't crass—at least not so that Carol or anyone else knew about it—and he was more reserved than his brother. He had opinions, and he would occasionally voice them rather loudly, but he was generally a great deal more reserved than Merle. Of course, that wasn't necessarily to say that Daryl was the definition of reserved, it simply meant that he appeared to be so next to his brother.

Carol knew that the majority of the group considered the Dixons to be uneducated, uncultured, rednecks—and maybe they were right—but that wasn't what Carol believed. Daryl might not have spent a great deal of time in college, and neither had Carol or many of their group members, but he seemed to know a decent amount of information. He and his brother had to bring some intelligence to the table, after all, because the group really valued their presence to help them survive.

If the Dixons didn't know much about proper physics and philosophy, they knew a great deal about what was required to stay alive—which was a science in its own right.

Daryl stopped the car when the row of vehicles in front of them stopped and Carol sat up a little from where she was reclining in the seat.

"What's happening?" She asked, shifting her sleeping daughter in her arms.

"Don't know," Daryl said. "Can't see shit out here." He reached under the seat and came up with the flashlight that they were travelling with. He opened the truck door. "Stay here. Don't get out unless I come back for you."

Daryl slid out of the truck door after giving his instructions. He didn't wait for Carol to tell him whether or not she understood his request. He closed the door as quietly as he could, flicked on the flashlight, and shined it around.

Carol watched the beam dancing in the darkness. Where it fell, I illuminated pieces of the scenery around her. There were other flashlights, too, presumably from other members of their group. The beams lit up the area around them to some degree, but Carol couldn't tell too much about where they were or what was going on. They were on a backroad of some sort. Carol knew that much. They were outside of Atlanta. That was all that really mattered. The dancing beams showed her that they were surrounded by woods, at least from what she could see. There were cars everywhere, even though the road was two lanes. They were in front of them, beside them, and even on both sides of the road in the grass. It was as though people had tried to get through the area in a hurry and they'd all simultaneously failed.

They were at a standstill.

Sophia was sleeping soundly in Carol's arms. She was really a good baby. Nothing ever seemed to bother her too much, and if she ever got upset, she responded pretty well to simply being cuddled by Carol. A little affection went a long way with her daughter.

Everyone who knew her, though, wished that Sophia wasn't part of their group. And it broke Carol's heart because she loved her daughter more than she loved her own life—and she wanted them to love her too.

Even her own father would have been happy to be without her. Now, at least, he was quite without her.

Carol's gut clenched at the thought. Her husband—the man who had often made her feel like she wasn't worth the air she breathed—was cold in the ground at a rock quarry that Carol would never again visit. The young bride that had married Ed Peletier, and had believed him to be a good man who would truly love her forever, would have been heartbroken to even think of such a thing. The woman that Carol had become felt nothing but relief over Ed leaving her life for good.

Carol rocked Sophia even though the baby wasn't even aware of her efforts. She did everything she could to keep Sophia quiet and satisfied so that nobody would feel put-out by her presence. She did her best to work enough so that the group didn't think they could do without her—especially now that she had nobody. She tried to stay quiet and invisible because, if they didn't notice her, then perhaps they wouldn't be so disgusted by how much she cost the group or how often she put them all at risk.

Even the women that seemed to want to be friends with her—Andrea, Lori, and Jacqui—probably thought that Carol was more of a hassle than she was worth, even though she'd never heard any of them say so.

Carol jumped when the truck door opened again. She gasped and Daryl slid into the seat next to her once more and flicked off the flashlight.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he said.

"I was just—daydreaming," Carol said.

"You might wanna do more'n that," Daryl said. "Road is backed up. There ain't no gettin' around that snare in the dark. Too dangerous to risk it. When the sun comes up, we might can see clear to move some of these cars. Maybe siphon off some gas. But we're stuck here tonight."

"We're sleeping in the truck?" Carol asked.

"Safest place to be," Daryl offered. He brought his thumb up and began chewing almost furiously at the cuticle. He often kept the area quite damaged. Carol had noticed the habit more than once. She resisted the urge to reach for his hand and stop him, sure that his finger must be sore. "Unless—you want me to walk you down to the RV. I'm sure there's room there."

Carol thought it was odd, but it almost sounded like Daryl knew how he wanted her to answer. It sounded like the offer to walk her to the RV had been given with some reluctance.

She decided that maybe he didn't want to sleep alone in the truck.

"Sophia might be waking up soon," Carol said. "And—sometimes she sleeps most of the night, but sometimes she doesn't."

"You askin' or you tellin'?" Daryl asked.

"I don't want her to bother you," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I been in worse company," he said. "You stayin' or you goin' to the RV?"

"There's enough room here," Carol said, even though the cab of the truck was, honestly, quite crowded for the three of them.

"You can spread out some," Daryl said. "Lean over here if you need to. I don't need much room. Behind the seat there—with your bag? There's some blankets."

Carol had packed a small diaper bag for Sophia. Daryl had stuffed it in the small space behind the seat. Carol reached back there and found the bag. She dropped it in the foot. Sophia would need to be changed when she woke up. She found the blankets, too, and she offered one to Daryl. For a moment, she considered what would be the best way to get comfortable. He had offered, so she took him up on the offer to lean against him and stretch her legs out a little in the opposite direction.

"You ain't gonna sleep holdin' her like that," Daryl said.

"I don't want to keep her in the carrier," Carol said.

"You can't stay awake all night, every night, neither," Daryl said. "Here—lemme try."

"You want to hold her?" Carol asked. Daryl hummed at her and reached to take Sophia. "You won't sleep."

"We'll take turns," Daryl said. "At least we'll both get some sleep. Go on. Get what'cha can 'fore she wakes up."

Carol passed Sophia over. She'd held her daughter so much that her arms felt strange without the weight of the baby. She wasn't sure that a man like Daryl would even know what to do with the baby. And maybe he didn't, but he hid it well. He settled Sophia against him and she hardly seemed to notice the change. Daryl hummed at Carol as if to say that all was well, and she leaned her head against him and covered herself with the blanket.

She wasn't sure if she was going to be able to sleep at all, but that was one of the last thoughts she had.

The very last thought being that Daryl Dixon had no reason to be kind to her—but she was glad he was.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: So I don't intend for Daryl to be the kind of character in this story (or "Daddy") that just follows along. I feel like Daryl, even if he wouldn't necessarily fight to be the so-called leader, would naturally lead to some degree. The Daryl we knew in the beginning was very pragmatic and he believed in getting things done because they needed to be done. That's the Daryl I loved, so that's the Daryl I'm channeling. I hope he's not too OOC for some of you.**

 **I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol came slowly back into the world around her. It was a strange feeling. She hadn't experienced this kind of waking for a long time. As she cracked her eyes, reality slowly settled in around her. It wasn't dark, but it wasn't light. It was the part of the morning where the sun was just starting to change the world from monochrome to colorful. Carol felt strange because she'd woken on her own. Nothing had startled her. Nothing had frightened her. Nothing had sounded an alarm in her head that told her that now was the time to wake and there wasn't a moment to spare.

And she felt strange because her arms were empty.

The realization hit her stomach like a lead weight had been dropped inside her and Carol sat bolt upright quickly enough that it made her head spin slightly. Her fear washed over her in an icy cold wave.

Since Sophia had been born, Carol had not woken before her daughter. And, since the world had turned into the nightmarish land full of the walking dead, Carol had not woken without her daughter wrapped protectively in her arms.

Carol didn't have to look far to search her daughter out. She didn't have to think too hard to remember what had happened the night before. She was easily oriented with her current reality.

Daryl had shifted some during the night, apparently moving Carol with him, so that he was slightly reclined with his head against the driver's side window. He was asleep. He appeared to be soundly asleep, in fact. His arms were hooked together like a basket across his chest and, snuggled into them and sleeping soundly, was Sophia.

She was sleeping so soundly, in fact, that Carol's chest flooded with fear again. What if her daughter's position had gotten off during the night? What if she'd slept wrong and had somehow suffocated?

Carol reached, panic washing over her, to rest her hand on her daughter's back to feel for any sign of life. She wanted to feel breathing. She wanted to feel warmth.

She found both.

She also frightened Daryl. As soon as Carol touched Sophia, Daryl closed the basket he'd made like a Venus flytrap closing over its prey. Daryl jerked and his breathing caught, but it was clear that he hadn't been as deeply asleep as it had appeared.

"What?" He asked. "What—what is it?" He looked around with a furrowed brow. His eyes were nearly squinted shut. "What the hell is happenin'?"

"Nothing's happening," Carol said. "Sophia slept through the night. Or—at least she slept through most of it. As long as we've been asleep."

Sophia was still sleeping. She was unbothered by anything happening around her for the moment.

"We ain't been asleep but—a couple hours. Maybe four," Daryl responded. "It weren't that early when we went to sleep."

"Still," Carol said.

But she didn't finish. She left the word hanging there in the air. Daryl, for his part, pretended that he didn't even hear it. Maybe he hadn't. He certainly didn't hear all that was going through Carol's mind at the moment.

It had been the best she'd slept since Sophia had been born. And, now that she knew Sophia was safe, she almost wished that she could go back and enjoy the sleep a little more. She found the sensation of believing that Sophia was safe to be a little unnerving. It was new. She hadn't felt it before.

She was also almost certain that she had never seen Sophia sleep in her father's arms. Carol could barely remember Ed ever holding the baby. She'd done her best to keep him from touching her. She may have never slept in a man's arms at all. She'd slept soundly in Daryl's though, for several hours.

At just that moment, though, it seemed that Sophia had slept all she intended to sleep. She woke slowly, scrubbing her face against Daryl's shirt. She pretended to go back to sleep for a moment, scrubbed her face once more, and then opened her eyes as she launched into a whimpering cry.

She was wet and she was hungry—and Sophia disliked both those things.

Daryl immediately looked panicked and Carol bit the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing as she took Sophia back from him.

"She's hungry," Carol said. "And wet. I'll feed her and change her."

"Shit," Daryl spat.

Carol laughed to herself.

"What?" She asked.

"I mean—I got shit," Daryl said. "That I need to do. It's gettin' late an' we gotta get this shit cleared up...so I'ma just...I'ma...get started...on the..."

"Shit?" Carol offered.

Daryl was already halfway out the truck. He'd practically opened the door to spill himself onto the ground.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Stay in the truck—until I tell you to come out."

Carol laughed to herself and accepted his instructions. He closed the door and she watched him find his crossbow in the back of the truck. He walked off in the direction of the vehicles that their other group members were using. So far, it seemed they were the only ones stirring, but Daryl was anxious to get the show on the road. He wasn't one for sitting around twiddling his thumbs. Even at the rock quarry, he'd always stayed busy.

Carol watched him only a second. Sophia wouldn't allow her more than that. Then she got Sophia settled to make sure that she got what she needed from the morning—all the while praising the brown-eyed baby over the sleep stamina that she'd shown the night before.

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"It's gonna take at least a day," Daryl said. "Maybe two. Might as well get comfortable. We can't get through the mess, but neither can the Walkers, it seems like."

"We could siphon off some gas," T-Dog offered.

"Prob'ly more'n some," Daryl agreed. "Go through the cars, too. Hell—get what there is to get. These people was packed an' tryin' to go somewhere. We're bound to find something we can use."

"Food, water, lamps, weapons," Shane ticked off. "We can put some people gathering while we're moving the cars."

"Move 'em out," Daryl said, "but that way. Keep 'em so they kinda keep buildin' this natural fence they got going on now. It don't keep all the Walkers out completely, but it sure as shit slows 'em down."

"We don't have a day or two," Rick said, "to stay here moving cars."

"We don't have a choice, Rick," Shane said with some irritation. "Look around you."

"This snare was caused by a buncha people rushin' to try to save their lives," Daryl offered. "They got stupid. Got to tryin' to do shit they couldn't do. Some of 'em died in their cars. Some of 'em died makin' a run for it. But whatever the hell happened—they got it too damn backed up for us to get through here."

"Jim doesn't have two days," Rick said. "I'm not sure he has one."

Daryl plucked a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He took a draw and savored the flavor.

"Jim ain't had shit when he got bit," Daryl said. "That was game over from the start. He ain't gonna beat this, Rick."

"What do you want us to do?" Rick asked. "Shoot him?"

Jim had been bellowing out from the RV all morning. The reason that Daryl knew that the cluster of wrecked cars on every side of them would do a good job holding back the Walkers was because the cars were holding back every Walker that came to find out where Jim's screams were coming from.

The death that the bites caused, clearly, was excruciating. It was the kind of death that you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy.

"It might just be the best thing we could do," Shane said.

Rick looked disgusted. Glenn, too, looked thoroughly disturbed.

"I told you back at the quarry that there weren't nothin' to do but shoot him," Daryl said. "Bein' dead's gotta be a whole lot better'n what he's going through. Besides—he's gonna be dead soon anyway. You think he's really gonna miss this hour of fuckin' torture?"

"You can't just shoot a man," Rick said.

"You asked him what he wants?" Daryl asked. "Because if it was me? I'd want you to put a bullet in my brain and end it. I'd want you to put me outta my damn misery. He won't live to see the CDC—and that's if we weren't stuck out here."

"Are you going to pull the trigger?" Rick asked.

"If he wants me to," Daryl said. "Listen—I don't wanna kill a man, but I'm not afraid to do it. Not if it's what needs to be done. You let him die or you force him to live—that's between the two of you. The fact of the matter, though, is that it's gonna take a day or two to clear these cars."

"I can't go in there and tell him that there's no hope," Rick said.

Daryl laughed to himself and shook his head.

"Then don't tell him shit," Daryl said. "But—don't let me hear you say nothin' about that baby hollerin' no more. Because she ain't never drawn attention to us like Jim is right now. And you just—wanna hold onto him. For as long as you can. Haul him to the CDC if you can. And it ain't nothin' more than you don't wanna admit that—you gotta let him go." Daryl took a drag on his cigarette. "But—you wouldn't have minded lettin' that kid go back at the rock quarry."

 _"You didn't mind leaving Merle on a roof_ ," Daryl thought, but he didn't say it. He kept it to himself. It didn't matter. What he had said had gotten Rick's attention well enough.

"I never would have left Carol or the baby," Rick said, pointing his finger at Daryl.

Daryl laughed at the gesture.

"Don't point your finger in my face no more," Daryl said. "You got me? I don't like it."

"We're not leaving anybody," Shane said. "And we're not killing anybody. Not if we don't have to. Now—Jim—he's got to make his own decisions. We've got to start deciding what we're going to do with him, though. It's not safe for him to be in the RV with Lori and Carl and—and Dale and Andrea and Jacqui. If he dies, he turns, and we end up losing more of our people. It's not safe to have them all together."

"They won't all be in there," Daryl said. "Because they gonna be out here cleanin' out cars and sorting supplies. Food, water, clothes, cigarettes, alcohol—any damn thing we could want. We're stupid not to take advantage of this. T will siphon off gas. We'll start moving the cars. I'll get a little fire built right out here. Somethin' small. Carol can cook us somethin' to eat."

"What about Jim?" Glenn asked, his face showing a deeper—and different—concern than Rick's. Daryl softened to him a bit. The Korean was practically still a kid.

"We'll see him off however it is that he's got a mind to go," Daryl said. "It's his decision. For now—you good at findin' shit. I got a couple things I need you to look for. Keep your mind busy. Your hands, too."

Glenn looked reluctant, but then he shrugged his shoulders and nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "Sure. What is it?"

"Diapers," Daryl said. "Clothes for Sophia. She's wearin' a t-shirt big enough for you to wear. Baby food. Formula or whatever else you can find that's fit for a baby. Put it in the back of my truck. All of it. Anything else we find can go in a community pile or whatever you want, but the baby stuff—it only makes sense that there ain't but one baby."

Glenn nodded his understanding, though he looked a little uncomfortable when Jim shrieked again from inside the RV.

"I'ma go get 'em out the RV and put everyone to work," Daryl said. "Safer that way."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol cooked over the small fire that had been built for her without any complaint. She didn't mind cooking—not even for a crowd—and staying close to the fire allowed her to stay to close to Sophia, who was resting near her in the detachable carrier that came with her car seat. Carol had left the seat in Ed's Cherokee, and she'd allowed Rick and Lori to use the car for their travel needs. The seat came in handy, though, whenever Carol felt secure enough to put her daughter down for a few moments.

The others worked on jobs here and there that they'd been assigned so that they could make the most out of their time stopped in the traffic snare. Around them, Walkers made their way to the piled up cars, but they very seldom managed to get through. Daryl, along with Rick and Shane, occasionally walked around the traffic snare and put down the Walkers they could reach, essentially building a wall of fallen Walker bodies that seemed to be working as a deterrent to other Walkers that considered approaching.

Many of the cars had been carrying coolers—all of which were filled with less-than-desirable water now that their ice had melted. Carol had boiled some of the water to use for washing, and she'd preserved the drinking water they'd found for their consumption. She'd served breakfast to the group, cleaned the dishes, and was almost done getting everything ready to start their lunch when she was drawn out of her daydreams by some loud talking taking place among several of the others.

Carol abandoned the food for a moment. Lunch could wait for her to start it until she was sure that everything was fine with her group members.

Carol collected Sophia out of her seat and quickly secured her daughter to her body with the wrap that Glenn had found in one of the vehicles that had boasted a great deal of baby supplies in boxes, bags, and a suitcases. Carol, for her part, was happy to have everything that the vehicle had to offer, and she'd tried not to think about what it meant that they'd found it all in an abandoned car caught here in the snare. The wrap was much more comfortable than Carol's old carrier had been, and she welcomed that because she spent most of her life these days with her daughter bound to her body.

Everyone was gathering around, drawn by the same noise that had stopped Carol from her task. The noise was primarily coming from Daryl, Rick, and Shane. All of them were rather noisily giving their opinions about something to the point that Carol wasn't sure that any of them were actually hearing each other. She couldn't make out what was happening until Dale, emerging from the RV and practically stepping into the middle of the three men, managed to get them to all quiet down.

"This isn't getting anyone anywhere," Dale said. "And it's not accomplishing anything except bringing more of those creatures."

"What do we become if we start killing people?" Rick asked. "If we condone murder, what's next?"

"This ain't some cold-blooded shit," Daryl said. "He's beggin' for fuckin' mercy, Rick! He's been beggin' for mercy for over an hour!"

"So you decide it's time to kill him?" Rick asked.

"I decide it's time to give him the mercy he wants," Daryl responded.

"Man—he doesn't want to go to the CDC," Shane said. "He doesn't want to go anywhere now. He just wants to let go. And he's gonna do that. Today or tomorrow—whenever the fever finally cooks his brain, Rick. And then what? He's inside the circle. He's inside the RV. Let's say he dies at night. Everyone's asleep. Then what? We let him kill Lori? Carl? Dale and Andrea?"

"I don't want to be in there with one of those things," Andrea interjected quickly from where she was standing, running her hands up and down her arms. She'd been helping Carol a little with the food and washing, and she'd been cleaning out the occasional car, but the loss of her sister was still fresh on her mind and she hadn't had time to properly process it. She was clearly very distracted and not at all herself. It was also written on her face that the very idea of being in the RV with Jim-turned-Walker was enough to have her trying to find room in one of the vehicles to spend the night.

"We're not talking about a Walker," Rick said. "We're talking about Jim. He's alive. Do you agree with shooting him?" Rick directed his question toward Andrea. "Would you pull the trigger?"

Rick's question caught Dale's attention and Dale stepped between Rick and Andrea when Andrea physically recoiled from the question.

"Normally I would agree with you," Dale said. "I think that we're turning into animals if we start killing each other. And I—I normally wouldn't condone suicide. I would say that there's always a chance for a better future. But in Jim's case..."

"You know as good as we do that there ain't no future," Daryl offered, finishing Dale's words. "He's dyin' right now. The only thing we decidin' is how fast we gonna let him do it. He wants out—and maybe there weren't no power that granted me the right to decide to that he gets out, but there weren't no power that granted me the right to deny him that either. You asked Andrea if she'd pull the trigger. She ain't gotta. I'll pull it myself. My conscience ain't lily white no damned way. I'll answer for it—if that's what I gotta do."

"You can't be serious," Lori said. She was across the group from Carol. Her young son was standing with her, trying to talk louder than anyone to get his mother's attention so that she might explain to him what was going on, and she was holding him in a veritable headlock like it might protect him from the reality that was surrounding them.

Carol rested her hand on Sophia's back, but her daughter—doing her best to bounce in her new wrap—was entirely unaware of the fact that they had reached a point in the world where it was necessary to discuss whether or not they would make the choice to put down one of their group members.

"You're just going to—shoot him and then eat lunch?" Rick asked. He was clearly quite troubled by what was happening. He was troubled by what he feared it meant for them. He was troubled by what he feared they were becoming.

Looking at Daryl, Carol wasn't sure he was any less troubled, though he did a better job of hiding it than Rick did. He was gnawing at his thumb, though, and Carol was starting to realize that the action was something he did whenever he was bothered by something or thinking deeply about something.

"No," Daryl said, somewhat softly. He cleared his throat and spoke again. "No. I'ma shoot him—'cause that's the best thing for him. And then I'ma dig a hole out there—hopefully with Shane or some damn body to keep the Walkers from eatin' my ass too—an' I'ma bury him. Then I'm gonna eat lunch and get back to work. Because that's what the hell I gotta do, Rick. You do what the hell you gotta do."

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There had been next to no conversation for the rest of the day.

Carol had served lunch and dinner, and she'd cleaned up after both meals with some assistance from Andrea, Lori, and Jacqui, all while remaining in almost absolute silence.

Everyone had kept working, but the words they'd exchanged were only the ones necessary to go from one task to the next. If no communication was necessary, then there was none.

Maybe their silence was respect for the dead. Maybe, even, it was brought on by mourning, but Carol doubted that. Jim had been a nice enough individual, but she'd felt no real attachment to him. He'd simply been a member of the group and nothing more. She hadn't been particularly close to him and she mourned him no more than she mourned anyone else they'd lost that she'd only barely known.

Nobody wanted to see Jim die, but he'd lost his family already. None of them were overly close to the man. They cared for him as they cared for anyone else that they hadn't personally bonded with in the group. Their silence, more than likely, wasn't caused by any profound sadness at his loss.

More than likely, their silence was brought on by the fact that they'd all seen the suffering that Jim had endured before he'd been put down. They'd all said their goodbyes to him though he'd barely been able to even pretend that he understood they were there. He'd seemed impatient and their farewells were an inconvenience. They'd heard him screaming even as he'd been carried out to the woods because every movement of his body caused excruciating pain. They'd heard the muffled conversation that took place between him and Daryl—even if the words had only been clear to the two men involved in the conversation and, perhaps, to Shane who had helped Daryl carry Jim out and bury him afterwards. They'd heard the gunshot and the deafening silence that had followed when the cries of agony that had been ringing out all day finally stopped.

They were silent because Jim had shown them the true agony of dying slowly from the fever that had seemed to eat him alive. They were silent because the Walkers growled around them and reminded them that they could be next—they could always be next. They were silent because the very idea of suffering such a horrible death was terrifying.

And they were silent because they were divided between those that wondered—like Rick—if this was something they shouldn't have done because there was no coming back from it, and those—like Daryl—that believed that they had to embrace a sort of new world order in a world that called for things to be drastically different than the world they'd left behind.

Carol didn't speak, beyond giving some small commands about cleaning up after dinner, until Daryl was in the cab of the truck next to her. Between them, in the foot, he'd placed one of the small camping lamps that he'd found.

"Blow it out soon," Daryl said. It was the first thing he'd said to her since that morning. "Don't worry—won't let it burn us up or nothin'."

"I wasn't worried," Carol said.

Sophia sat in her lap, gnawing at a toy that had been found for her. She was unbothered by everything that happened. She was unaware of everything that was going on in the world around her. In a lot of ways, this was her world. She accepted everything that happened as simply natural. She knew no different.

And, honestly, today had been more peaceful for Sophia than many of the days she'd known before. Her father, after all, was dead and buried at a rock quarry outside of Atlanta. Sophia hadn't had to scream once, since his departure from the world, out of fear of the chaos that surrounded her in the private spaces that her family occupied.

The Walkers frightened Sophia less than the chaos that she'd known in those private spaces.

Daryl kept glancing at her nervously. Carol could practically feel the energy radiating off his body. He reminded her almost of a caged animal, but he had been the one that had placed himself in this cage, and he was the one who had closed the door.

Such an overload of nervous energy might have bothered Carol before, but it didn't bother her coming from Daryl. She simply wished she knew how to relieve it for him.

"I like the light," she offered. "For a little while. Thank you—for having Glenn look for the things for Sophia. I hate to think about where most of it came from, but the whole back of the truck is practically full..."

"Can you get use out of it?" Daryl asked, his tone short. Carol didn't believe that he was feeling short with her, though. It wasn't the same tone of voice that Ed might use, for instance, to warn her that she was starting to get on his nerves. She hummed at him.

"All of it," she said.

"Good," Daryl said. "Then there ain't no need in worryin' about where it come from."

Carol sat silently, not sure how to respond. Daryl rolled down the truck window and Carol didn't ask him why. He quickly produced a cigarette and flicked his lighter to light it. Rolling down the window, Carol knew, was a gesture to be considerate to her and Sophia. Ed had never bothered with such courtesies. She'd smoked too, from time to time, but she'd given it up entirely the second she suspected that she might be pregnant. She would have preferred if Ed hadn't always smoked in the house and car. She assumed, though, that Sophia was about as exposed to smoke as she could be. She'd been getting it thirdhand from Carol since before she was born and secondhand from Ed since she'd come into the world.

Daryl, at least, smoked out the window.

"You think like them?" Daryl asked.

"What?" Carol asked. She'd slipped into a daydream—remembering some of Ed's ways in comparison to those of other men. She shifted Sophia around and her daughter cooed out some sounds at her before she returned to slobbering on her toy.

"You think like them?" Daryl repeated. He glanced at Carol, but quickly averted his eyes. "Like I'm some kinda animal? Some—some dangerous, murderin' animal?"

Carol frowned.

It was bothering him. The whole thing was bothering him. In front of everyone, he pretended that it wasn't. His guard was down a little now, though, and Carol felt a strange flutter in her stomach when she realized that Daryl was dropping his guard for her—and nobody else.

He would judge himself based on her judgement.

"Jim was suffering," Carol said. "You—put him out of his misery. He was ready to go. You did what you had to do."

"Coulda let him die on his own," Daryl said.

"You granted his wishes," Carol offered.

"They think..." Daryl said, but he never did finish it. Carol was pretty sure she could understand why he didn't finish it. Carol knew very well that the voice in a person's head had the capability to be as torturous as anyone outside of the mind.

And even though she'd never asked him a great deal about his life, Carol had the very good feeling that Daryl might have some pretty cruel voices in his head.

"You did what you had to do," Carol said. "You're not a monster. And—when they stop letting their fear and their...their emotions control them, they'll know you're not a monster."

Daryl hummed in response, but he glanced in Carol's direction. He offered her something like the bare beginnings of a smile. He reached a hand out and brushed it over Sophia's head and Sophia squawked a noise out at him. He smiled softly at the noise.

"She looks better in them clothes that fit," Daryl said. Carol hummed in agreement. Sophia had long since outgrown everything Carol had for her. She'd been using two of Carl's rejected shirts for clothing for Sophia for some time now. Now Sophia had actual clothing to wear and some to grow into.

"She liked the carrots she tried," Carol said. "And—she doesn't think you're a monster either."

"She's just a baby," Daryl said softly. "She don't hardly know nothing." He finished his cigarette and flicked the butt out the window.

"Would you—do me a favor," Carol asked. "Hold her while I—while I step outside the truck?"

"Where you goin'?" Daryl asked, furrowing his brow. He did reach for Sophia, though.

"I have to pee," Carol admitted.

"Don't'cha go nowhere," Daryl said. "Just right there—just outside the truck. Holdin' onto the side of it or whatever—so you can still see with the light."

Carol nodded.

"I wasn't going anywhere," she said. She whispered a thanks to Daryl as he took Sophia. Sophia didn't protest the change of arms. She allowed Daryl to adjust her on his lap so that she could continue entertaining herself with the toy that she'd been given. Carol held her breath when she opened the truck door and started to slip out, sure that her daughter might protest her disappearing act, but she was thankful when Sophia—developing a sudden interest in reaching for the cigarette pack that peeked out of Daryl's shirt pocket—didn't make a peep. Carol smiled to herself and addressed Daryl as her feet hit the pavement outside of the truck. "She doesn't know much," Carol said. "But she's a pretty good judge of character, Daryl."


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **An important AN is at the end regarding some characterization and the timeline.**

 **I hope you enjoy the chapter! Please let me know what you think!**

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Their time gathering supplies at the snare had provided them with quite a bit of supplies. It was supplies that, hopefully, they could share with whomever they might find at the CDC. They hoped, after all, that the government was still supplying the CDC and they might find riches there that were beyond even what they had found in the traffic snare.

They stopped only once between the CDC and the snare, and that was to rearrange their findings and develop a quick plan for how to handle the evacuation of their vehicles. They had a plan—mostly one that they plucked out of their imaginations—and that plan was to arrive at the CDC, leave most of their belongings, and carry only what each of them could manage. Then, once they were sure that the CDC was open and welcoming, they could offer to return for all that they had.

Daryl had insisted that Carol pack only a small bag that could fit on her back, and that she strap her daughter to her body. She could support the baby with her arms as she made a dash for the building, but the wrap would provide extra support in case she needed to move her hands for any reason. Carrying the baby meant that she would already be carrying a comparable amount of weight to most people, so Daryl didn't want to weigh her down with too much in the way of supplies.

For his part, Daryl carefully divided the space of the large backpack that he'd found to carry some of Carol's things, some of Sophia's things, and the few things that he thought he might need if he wasn't allowed to return to the truck. He strapped every weapon to his body that he could—two hunting knives and a gun being all that he had on him— packed the extra bullets, and decided to carry his crossbow.

They had no idea what they would find at the CDC. Rick seemed to expect the best—an open, welcoming, and well-stocked facility that would offer them refuge, a cure to whatever this was, and the key to getting back to the life that they once knew. Shane seemed to expect the worst—a smoking hole in the ground that had been destroyed as surely as everything else that the government had tried to destroy when the world had first started to descend into its current state of chaos. Daryl fell somewhere in between the two extremes. He was hoping for the best, but he was prepared for the worst.

Atlanta was a ghost town. The only movement besides their caravan of vehicles was the movement of the Walkers that roamed around looking for something they wouldn't find inside the city. Eventually, searching out the food that Atlanta didn't have to offer them, they'd make their way outside the city, Daryl was sure of that.

The CDC, when they found it, looked like every other building in Atlanta—abandoned. Daryl was shifting quickly toward Shane's way of viewing things as they pulled up.

Darkness was coming quickly. The world was starting to dissolve into shades of gray as the sun descended. If they were going to do this, they needed to do it quickly. They didn't want to lose the daylight. If the CDC offered them no refuge, then they would still need to get back to their vehicles for the protection they offered. Leaving their vehicles, too, was bound to stir up the Walkers in the area, so they would need to move on before stopping for the night.

Daryl saw the hand gestures from Shane in the vehicle in front of them.

"You got her all set?" Daryl asked.

Carol was already wearing her bag and her daughter as she sat uncomfortably in the seat beside Daryl. He shifted to get his bag on his back.

"I think so," she said. Her voice shook just a little, and Daryl heard it, but he didn't draw attention to it and she didn't declare that she was scared. Of course she was scared. There were half a dozen Walkers waiting just a few feet from the truck.

"When I come around, you get out," Daryl said. "I'ma cover you. All you gotta do is run for the door. Don't'cha worry about nobody else but you an' her. Not me. Not nobody. Just head for the door."

Carol hummed at him. It was all she seemed able to manage. Daryl held up his hand, letting Shane know that he was ready, and Shane flicked his lights quickly to send the message to Dale.

Almost like a well-choreographed dance, and with everything happening much more smoothly than what Daryl had expected, everyone spilled out of the vehicles in the order that they'd established. Daryl quickly made his way around the truck and took out the Walkers that showed immediate interest in him with a bolt that he didn't bother to load into his crossbow. The semi-rotted Walkers dropped to the ground with relative ease and he waved his hand toward Carol. Immediately, she opened the truck door and got out with Sophia. She did exactly as he'd instructed and ran toward the building. Daryl followed behind her, dropping any Walker that got close to them and managed to avoid the other armed group members who were fighting their way to the door with handheld weapons.

Between them all, they cleared most of the Walkers immediately in their vicinity, but night was coming and they were in a city where the dead were hunting and, more than likely, starving. It wouldn't be long before there were more Walkers. There was every chance that they could be overwhelmed soon.

The heavy doors echoed their thuds when they beat on them, but nobody answered their calls. They stood outside the CDC for a few moments, frantically trying to get the attention of someone who might not be there, before Shane started to yell about the very real possibility that they were just wasting time and burning daylight.

Slowly, as it got darker and his heartbeat picked up from the fact that he could sense the threat of night, Daryl began to agree with Shane. It was time to abort this. It was time to return to their vehicles, move as far away from the city as they could, and sleep for the night before they established a new plan.

And then the camera moved.

"It's automatic," was Andrea's response the moment that Glenn pointed out the moving camera. "It's probably like—like a motion detection device. There's nobody in there. There's nobody left. Look around—there's nobody left anywhere."

"We're left," Daryl offered. "All that fuckin' matters. But we gotta get outta here. Gettin' dark an' I didn't like sight of all the Walkers that we seen comin' in."

"We'll head back toward the interstate," Shane said. "Get away from the city. Away from the population."

While they talked about the hopelessness of standing outside the locked doors of the CDC and worked on devising something that might serve as a plan to get them through until dawn, Rick launched into an attack against whomever he thought might be behind the camera. He yelled at it, probably drawing more Walkers to them, and he cursed it. He begged it for entrance and pleaded for the lives of his wife and son. He told the camera that to leave them out there was to condemn them all to death.

To stand there yelling at a camera when they could move on to safety was also condemning them to death, but Rick didn't want to hear about that.

In the end, though, Rick won.

The voice came almost like Daryl might have imagined the voice of God would have come if God had felt inclined to speak to any of them. It came ringing out from above them, and it was entirely disembodied.

"You should go," the voice said. "If you've found a way to live, then you should continue to do so."

Daryl was inclined to listen to the voice. Shane, already trying to urge Lori and Carl to go with him, must have felt the same way. If the voice thought it was better for them not to be inside the building, then maybe the voice knew best.

Rick begged entrance, though. He told of their struggles. He told of the fact that night was descending and, soon, they'd be overrun by Walkers who hunted even more ferociously at night. He pleaded to the voice to offer some help and some refuge.

Daryl finally yelled to the voice to ask it one question—"Is it safe in there?"

"There are none of what you call Walkers," the voice responded.

"There anything else in there?" Daryl asked.

"Only me," the voice responded.

Daryl glanced around, but it was clear that nobody knew what to make of the voice. It tried, once more, to tell them that they may want to go. Once they entered the building, it promised, there would be no leaving it. They would remain there forever. The voice warned them that there was nobody there. There were supplies enough to last their lifetime, it boasted. There was, clearly, electricity because there were cameras, but there was no civilization. If they came inside, they would make up the entirety of their society.

Out here, too, they made up the entirety of society. Out here, they were alone with the Walkers. It appeared that there were very few people left. Out here, they scrounged through abandoned buildings and vehicles for food and water, and they lived off the land. They could continue to survive this way, and Daryl was sure of that, but it wasn't a life of luxury. It was a life of always looking over their shoulders to make sure that the dead weren't coming to get them.

Still, there was something about the whole thing that made Daryl uncomfortable.

"I don't like it," Daryl said. "He thinks we oughta just go, so I say we oughta just go."

"Go where?" Andrea asked.

"Further out," Shane said, repeating what he'd said earlier. "Away from the cities. Less people means fewer of these things."

"It don't matter where we go," Daryl said. "Keep goin' until we know we're there. Find somewhere safe."

"We've found somewhere safe," Lori insisted. "Right here. I don't want to take my son out there. I don't want to live like we've been living—waiting for the next attack. The next night like that one at the quarry. Always wondering who's going to die next. Carol?"

Daryl glanced at Carol. She looked between Daryl and Lori. She was clearly conflicted. She would want safety, wherever that might be, and it was looking like there was some of it here. Still, Carol didn't immediately agree with Lori. Maybe she felt the same strange gnawing feeling in her gut that Daryl felt in his. Maybe she knew that something was simply off about this whole experience. She looked to Daryl for some sort of guidance, and Daryl could see the conflict on her features.

"I want Sophia to be safe," she said. Daryl could hear the shaking in her voice. The voice that came from inside the CDC—Daryl assumed—turned on a floodlight before anyone could say anything else and bathed them all in brightness.

"Man! Turn off the fuckin' light! You wanna draw every damn Walker in Atlanta? Turn off the fuckin' light!" Daryl spat.

The light went off, but the damage had been done. Daryl could hear the growling already. It was loud. The light had caught the attention of a lot of the creatures at once and it had given them a beacon—even for such a short period of time—to follow. They were coming.

Out here was no longer safe and everybody knew it.

Without the luxury of time to think about things or discuss other options, everyone turned to begging entrance to the CDC. The voice laid out some ground rules and expectations and, without even hearing them, they all agreed. There was nothing left to do. They agreed to whatever rules they must abide by in order to live.

The voice welcomed them in, told them to bring only what they had with them, and buzzed the lock to allow them entrance to the building even as the wave of Walkers coming after them became visible from almost every direction. Daryl was one of the first to open the door and he shoved Carol and Sophia inside before he turned to face off with whatever Walkers might reach them before everyone spilled inside. He was one of the last to come in, and he was relieved when the door locked behind them.

A moment after the relief, though, he felt the strange sense of loss that flooded his chest.

The door locked. They were inside the CDC. Forever.

"Welcome," the voice said, now much closer than it had been before. "Put down your weapons."

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 **AN: OK, so I have to admit that I'm terrible with timelines. As I've been working on this, I've figured out that I'm seriously going to have to make some adjustments to my timelines to make things work out like I want. I'm also going to have to simply beg suspension of disbelief from anyone reading when the time is a bit off. This will not go directly according to canon.**

 **I also realized that continuing on as I want will necessarily make Lori a bit more promiscuous than she is on the show (and more than I originally intended). I considered what I wanted to do about that, but rather than scrap the whole story, I decided to embrace the opportunity to write her that way. Therefore, I'm letting you know ahead of time that I'm taking lots of liberties with her story (and other stories, as you might have imagined). I hope that you don't mind.**

 **I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know what you think!**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl didn't know what to make of the man that introduced himself as Edwin Jenner, and who had made it clear that he had a preference of being called by his last name. The man was pale and he looked like he'd had trouble sleeping and, perhaps, like he'd tried to solve that problem by drinking heavily.

Of course, he was also living underground in the CDC in a city that was overrun with the living dead.

Daryl assumed they could all be forgiven a few of their shortcomings, and he'd determined to withhold making any judgments about the man until they'd at least had some opportunity to get to know one another.

Immediately after greeting them just inside the door, the entire building had been secured once more. There was no need to offer to go for their supplies because Jenner quickly informed them that the doors were sealed and wouldn't be opened again. There was, according to Jenner, more than enough of everything they'd need in the CDC for a lifetime. Daryl wasn't sure how the building could even hold all of that, but Jenner seemed confident enough that Daryl was inclined to believe him and to assume that the government might even be making deliveries of some kind there.

They had been allowed to bring their weapons once they offered no threat. They were escorted to an elevator and, then, they'd learned that the majority of the CDC was actually underground.

Daryl had also learned, on the elevator, that Carol was at least slightly claustrophobic. She'd admitted that elevators and the idea of being underground made her uncomfortable, but she'd quickly controlled her emotions and, other than her own admittance of fear, Daryl had seen no evidence that she was in distress.

Their first stop had been a small room where Jenner had required each of them to provide him with a blood sample. The most distraught about the practice, by far, had been Sophia, and Carol had immediately set about nursing her daughter to simply try to soothe over the clear feeling of betrayal she felt over the needle-stick. Whether it was loss of blood or the nursing, Daryl didn't know, but he saw the moment that Carol rested her head in her hand and leaned against the table near her. She'd gone lightheaded, and she wasn't the only one.

When Jenner had demanded an explanation for the fact that several of them seemed near collapse, they'd given him the most straightforward explanation that they had—they were all undernourished. They'd found food at the traffic snare, but they'd been careful to ration that food. Though their desire had been to greedily eat like kings, they all knew that the food wouldn't last forever and there was no telling when they'd find it again.

They were exhausted, and they were weak from hunger and thirst.

And then Jenner had told them the most wonderful news that he could. Along with all the supplies that they would need for a lifetime, there was also food and drink to last them equally as long. He'd invited them quickly into the place that they'd be calling home and, prompting them to temporarily abandon their bags and such, he'd taken them to a dining room where he'd seated them around a large table to wait while he'd passed around alcohol, sodas, juice, and water to sustain them while he happily prepared what was truly a feast to all of them.

Daryl had pushed the wine onto Carol because he wanted her to feel the warm, artificial happiness that rushed through the rest of them. She'd fought him at first, declaring that it might very well taint her milk in some way, but Daryl had convinced her that a little wine—mixed heavily with milk, of course—would do nothing more than help her daughter to sleep a little more soundly. Daryl didn't know a single damned thing about babies or about breastmilk, but Carol had believed him and she'd indulged in a glass of the wine with her meal.

Jenner had also offered her the information that someone who had worked there had a child shortly before the turn and, it seemed, had often brought the child to work. He told her that there was a large stock of baby food and formula in the storage area that she was welcome to have for Sophia.

Daryl was sure that Jenner's promise of formula might have had something to do with Carol's decision to partake of the wine, but he pretended that it had been only his influence that had convinced her to relax a little.

Daryl felt the artificial happiness of the whiskey that he was sipping as it flooded through every inch of his body. He felt the relaxation that it induced. He enjoyed the humor that it readily brought up within him. He didn't try to hold back on the smile that seemed to simply be affixed to his face.

The whole room was filled with happiness and celebration. There was enough food for all of them to gorge themselves and still to know that there was more if they wanted it. Everyone talked and laughed and talked over each other until it was likely that nobody could hear anybody else speak—and nobody was offended because they were all too overcome with relief at finally feeling full and relaxed.

By the time the meal was over, Daryl was more than lightheaded. He took a full bottle of whiskey with him, and he tucked a bottle of wine under his arm as well, when Jenner led them all out of the dining room to show them their sleeping quarters. He wasn't the only one taking drinks with them, so nobody pointed out what he'd taken away from the table. He'd tucked both bottles into his bag before he'd gathered up both his bag and Carol's so that she could focus on carrying Sophia.

Jenner promised them that as soon as he had them settled, they would be free to use the showers. He'd requested they limit the length of their showers, but that there was enough hot water for all of them.

Even a moment of hot water was more hot water than any of them had experienced in a good long while. The closest that Daryl had come to hot water since this whole thing started was dousing himself in some water that he'd set aside in buckets at the rock quarry to collect the heat of the sun. Still, that was far more short-lived than a shower and he hadn't had the added benefit of soap.

Nobody said anything to Jenner as he handed out rooms—none of which were actual bedrooms, but all of which could be made to work so that everyone could have some privacy and a place to lay their head. He ushered Rick, Lori, and Carl into a room. He'd offered another to Dale and Andrea since Dale was practically supporting the clearly tipsy blonde as she walked. He'd offered a third to Daryl, Carol, and Sophia.

Daryl never saw how he'd attempted to "room" Jacqui, T-Dog, and Shane because he'd followed Carol into the room that they'd been "assigned". He put down the bags that he was carrying and looked around the room. It had clearly been something of a lounge. There was a futon there that would offer them a place to sleep, and there were chairs that could be mined for cushions and pillows. Jenner had apparently tried to make them all feel welcome. While they'd eaten—since that was the only time he'd disappeared at all from their sight—he'd apparently come around to each room like Santa Clause. There were toiletries for the both of them, towels, some assorted clothes, and a large folded blanket that looked plenty big enough for a queen or king-sized bed.

Apparently, the same person who had left behind the formula and baby food had other things there, because Jenner had also put some kind of baby playpen in the room that was complete with a few other baby items inside.

Daryl scratched at the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?" Carol asked. She carried Sophia over to the playpen and put her inside before she began to shuffle through the supplies there.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"For—well he put us in the same room," Daryl said.

Carol hummed.

"He did," she said. "Awww—look at that, Sophia. Do you like that? It's a doll."

Daryl scratched at his head. He would relish the shower when it was his turn. He walked over to look at Sophia sitting in the playpen. Her sitting didn't last long, though, before she quickly toppled over. She didn't get upset about the change of position and, instead, reached for the doll that Carol had been offering her. It was, apparently, much more interesting while she lie on her stomach and kicked her legs.

"She could use a little time to just—use her muscles," Carol said. "I know I shouldn't hold her as much as I do. She needs to be free to get stronger. But with—everything..."

"Hey," Daryl said quickly. He interrupted her because he could hear a quiver in her voice. He knew that alcohol could induce negative feelings as quickly as it could induce positive ones. He didn't want her tripping and falling down a hole that would take her farther down than she had any business going tonight. "She's good. Look at her—happiest damn kid I ever seen. An' she's gonna have plenty of time to get down here. Plenty of room to explore or—do whatever the hell she's gotta do. There's none of them things down here."

Carol visibly swallowed, nodded, and looked at Daryl. She sucked in a breath and forced a smile that quickly looked more sincere.

"I'm sorry," she breathed out. "You were probably hoping for some privacy. You probably wanted to be away from us and—he put us together. I'll walk around. See if there are any other rooms."

Daryl felt a rush of something in his gut. It felt a little like panic. He wasn't sure how to respond to what Carol had said. He wasn't sure how she might want him to respond. He said the first thing that came to his mind, though it wasn't a response that pleased him entirely once it was out of his mouth.

"I guess he was just doublin' people up," Daryl said.

"I think it's more than that," Carol said.

"What'cha mean?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself. She shrugged her shoulders.

"I think that—he might've thought that..."

"That what?" Daryl pressed. He chewed at his cuticle, suddenly overcome with an inexplicable nervousness. He moved toward his bag and found his whiskey bottle. He opened it before he pulled out the wine bottle and held it up so that Carol could see it. "For—after she goes to bed or...whenever you want it. When you don't gotta worry so much about her milk or...I guess there's the formula." He cleared his throat. All the words had come out quickly. They'd come out of his mouth like they hadn't even belonged to him. They'd rushed out in a stream that had come so fast that they'd surprised him. "What'd you...think he thinks?" Daryl asked.

Carol smiled at him.

"Maybe that—we're married?" Carol asked. "That—we're a family?"

"A family?" Daryl asked.

"You, me, Sophia," Carol said. "A family. It's a bit presumptuous, but I guess..."

"It makes sense," Daryl said. Something registered on Carol's face and Daryl wasn't sure what it was. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know what it was, either. Was it simply shock over the fact that Jenner thought what he thought? Or was it something else? Was it displeasure that he might think that she was Daryl's wife and Sophia was their child? Suddenly Daryl felt his stomach burning. He felt the need to correct something or save something, but he had no idea what or how. "I mean—I was carryin' your shit."

The corner of Carol's mouth flicked upward, but her smile looked uncomfortable at best.

"Yeah," she said. "That was probably it. You were—carrying things for me and Sophia. I'll look for another room."

"Not unless you want to," Daryl said. "I mean—if anybody oughta look for one, it's me. You got what'cha need here for Sophia. I just got—like half a bag of stuff. If that, even."

"If you want to look for another room," Carol said.

"If you want me to," Daryl responded.

"The room is bigger than the truck cab," Carol said. "And we've been fine there. But if you—want some privacy."

Daryl's stomach twisted again. It felt like she didn't want him to leave. He realized, too, that he didn't want to leave. He didn't like to be alone and being with Carol and Sophia had been nice. He'd enjoyed being with them. He'd enjoyed having the company. Now that he was facing "privacy," he was struck with the realization that he really didn't want it.

And he hoped that he wasn't just hearing in Carol's tone what he felt inside himself. He hoped that she didn't want it either.

He cleared his throat.

"I mean—there's room here," Daryl said. "We could—work somethin' out with the sleepin' arrangement or..."

"If we spread out the cushion on that futon," Carol said, "it's a lot bigger than the truck seat."

It was a lot bigger than the truck seat. Carol was right about that. Even the thought of it made Daryl's stomach react in odd ways, though. He nodded.

"We'll talk about it," Daryl said. "Figure it out. After a shower. There's bound to be one open by now."

Carol nodded.

"Go take a shower," she said.

"You go first," Daryl said. He glanced toward Sophia when Carol looked at him with question on her features. "She's gonna need milk an' all 'fore you put her to bed. She ain't gonna stay up forever."

"She's going to need a bath, too," Carol said. "I guess I'll wash her while I take a shower."

"Can you do that?" Daryl asked.

Carol shrugged.

"I can figure it out," Carol said. "It just takes a little—maneuvering."

Daryl hummed at her.

"Go take a shower," Daryl said. "Then—we'll find a sink or somethin' for you to give her a bath."

"I've still got to take her with me," Carol said. "I can't just leave her alone while I take a shower."

Daryl looked toward the little pen where the baby was happily swimming on her belly while she entertained herself with some of the toys provided to her.

"I got her," Daryl said. "Go. Take a shower."

"I couldn't ask you to..." Carol started, but Daryl cut her off before she could finish.

"You didn't ask nothin'," Daryl said. "I offered. Go. I got her. She'll be fine with me."

Carol smiled at him and nodded her head.

"I'm know she will be," Carol offered, before she started to sort through the things that Jenner had left them so that she could decide what she'd take with her to the showers.

Daryl smiled to himself. The comment brought about a warm sensation in his belly, but this time it was much more pleasant than the other happenings that had taken place in his gut while they'd been sorting things out. This was a sensation that he didn't mind sitting with.

And he hadn't lied. He really didn't mind sitting with Sophia for Carol to have a nice shower. After all, she deserved one just the same as anybody else.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol wasn't going to pretend to be the grieving widow. She wasn't going to put on a show at all. Ed hadn't been a doting husband, and she hadn't felt real love for him in a long time.

What surprised her, though, was how absolutely void of sadness she found herself to be. They were safe here. They could rest. They could breathe. If Carol was going to be struck by some deep-seated grief that she'd swallowed down to just keep going, this was going to be the place where it hit her. But it wasn't there. She truly felt no great loss. She felt no hollowness or emptiness. She didn't want to reflect on the good times and to try to drum up some nostalgia for the man she'd believed she would love for the rest of her life.

Ed was dead and, what was more, it seemed that he'd been dead to her for a long time.

The hot shower was the first place that Carol had been alone since Sophia had been born. She had kept her daughter with her from the moment she'd been born. When she'd taken showers before, it had been with Sophia resting in a seat just outside the curtain where Carol could peek at her constantly. She wouldn't dare leave her alone, and she hadn't trusted her with Ed. She hadn't trusted her, either, with most of those surrounding her now because they complained about her daughter's presence so often that it made her worried about what they might do in some kind of moment of weakness or temporary insanity.

But she realized, alone in the shower, that she truly did trust Daryl with her daughter.

The man admittedly didn't know much about babies. She'd had to walk him through every single thing he'd done with Sophia in the truck, but he'd learned. He was a quick study and he seemed eager to learn about Sophia. He seemed fascinated by her. He clearly saw her as something slightly terrifying, but wonderful as well. She was a tiny and complete human being to Daryl—complete with mysteries he wouldn't mind learning about. He had the patience to feed her baby food with a spoon and he wasn't upset about the mess she made because she didn't know yet how to eat well. He had learned to change her diaper and Carol hadn't pointed out to him that she saw that way that his hands shook as he pinned the diaper on because he feared accidentally hurting Sophia. He could dress her in the clothes that he'd had found for her—the first ones that fit her since she'd practically been a newborn—and he seemed pleased to see her in items that he thought were "pretty".

And, right now, he was watching Sophia while Carol showered because he offered. Because he wanted to.

Carol shampooed her hair. There wasn't much of it, but it had been growing since the world had gone to hell and the best she could do to cut it was to use the scissors that they'd found. The scissors hadn't gotten it as close as the razor, though, and Carol hadn't cut it since they'd put Ed in the ground.

She wasn't sure if she was going to cut it again.

Carol had shaved her hair off for years. Short wasn't even short enough when Ed was around. If he could find anything to grab, he would. He'd ripped the hair out of her head more times than she could count before she'd decided to let go of any vanity she might have left and shave it off. Who was she trying to look beautiful for anyway? She'd rather that Ed didn't desire her, because it wasn't good with him. It hadn't been good with him for a very long time.

In fact, if Carol was honest, it had never been good with Ed. When they'd first married, and she was so eager to please the man that she loved, she'd convinced him and her both that it was good—but it wasn't. She'd always been much better to herself than Ed had ever been to her.

Despite Jenner's request that they take short showers, and despite the fact that she knew she should hurry to relieve Daryl of the burden of Sophia, Carol indulged herself.

It would only take a moment. She wanted it so badly and her body was so starved for it, that it would only take a moment. Besides that, she knew exactly what she liked.

Carol leaned her arm against the shower wall and leaned her head against her arm. She dropped her other hand and caressed herself. She was gentle and slow at first. She teased herself. She liked the feeling of the water as it ran down her arm and reached her center. She liked the gentle, slow teasing of her fingertips. She drew to mind the dream of someone else teasing her that way—just the way she wanted to be teased. In her mind, things could happen just as she wanted. Someone could enjoy her, and she could be free to enjoy them. The heat built in her body and her muscles tensed as she imagined what might come next. He would be attentive. Would he nothing but gentle? Would he be rough and animalistic? Or would he be both with the perfect rhythm that she desired and required of him? With the growing desire burning inside her, she increased her speed and pressure. She bit her arm and held her skin between her teeth, imagining biting someone else—imagining him biting her with pleasure. She didn't mind the pain when it was pain that came from pleasure and desire.

She took her time, but even taking her time took no time at all. She stretched out her orgasm as long as she could—it seemed, sometimes, that she could make it last longer than it took to achieve it with just the right movements. Sometimes she felt she simply let it drop rather than spend the time it would take to see how long her body would continue to respond to touch.

Carol's body felt relaxed and her mind was swimming with a pleasant feeling as she finished her shower. It wasn't right to think of him that way, and she knew it, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him either. He had treated her more kindly in the past few days than most people had treated her in her whole life. He treated her daughter well, and Carol could easily say that nobody else did that. It was only natural that she would feel some attraction to him for his kindness.

His looks didn't hurt too much, either. Like the rest of them, he was in desperate need of a bath and some genuine rest, but he was handsome in a rugged sort of way. Carol liked his smile and she liked his penetrating stare. She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have that gaze directed at her as more than another group member for whom a compassionate man had compassion.

It was a nicer daydream than any celebrity crush she'd ever borrowed for her fantasies before.

Carol dried off, scrubbed her hair dry with her towel, and quickly dressed in the clothes that Jenner had left for her. They were pajamas and the ensemble was complete with a robe. It was clear that the government, when they'd stocked this place, had been prepared for a variety of people to stay there. Carol wasn't sure why, exactly, they'd prepared so well and then left Jenner in charge of the place by himself, but she assumed that maybe they predicted—just as it had happened—that people would eventually seek shelter there.

Maybe the government was still running. Maybe they really would find a cure for this. Maybe they would return some order to the world.

Until then, at least, they were safe here.

Carol brushed her teeth and relished the minty taste of the toothpaste and the clean, slick feeling of her teeth when she was done. She packed up her things and padded down the hallway in sock feet back to the room that she would be sharing with Daryl.

He probably wanted privacy. He probably wanted to be away from her and Sophia both. After all, he'd offered them kindness, but they weren't his responsibility and Carol knew that a young baby could be a bit much for anyone who felt no real responsibility for her. Still, he hadn't seemed eager to leave the room and she certainly wasn't going to push him out. She liked his company and she appreciated his help more than she could have ever expressed.

She had needed that shower—and those few moments alone—more than she'd even imagined. She felt, stepping back into the room, like a whole new person.

Carol's normal reaction, she was sure, upon entering a room where she'd left her daughter only to find her daughter missing, would be to freak out entirely. Admittedly, as she put her things down and fully realized that the room was empty, her heart had stopped in her chest. The panic had been short-lived, though. The room was clean and it appeared that very little had been disturbed. Daryl had clearly dragged the futon mattress down to the floor. He'd covered it with the blanket and piled every pillow he could find on top of it. A few of Sophia's new toys were strewn there, but other than that the room was just as she'd left it.

Daryl and Sophia, both, were gone and that brought Carol a certain sense of relaxation. She slipped out of the room and went in search of her daughter and the man who was temporarily babysitting her. She didn't have far to go, because just as she'd turned the corner of the hallway headed back toward the dining room, Daryl had met her with Sophia in his arms.

Her baby girl clearly had come to no harm. She looked perfectly content in Daryl's arms while she chewed on one of the toys. When she saw Carol, though, she did start to fuss and beg the changing of the guard. Carol smiled at her and accepted her when Daryl handed her over.

"Hoped we'd get back 'fore you did," Daryl said. "You didn't worry none, did you?"

Carol smiled to herself. She shook her head.

"No," she assured him. "I didn't worry."

"Was just checkin' the place out," Daryl said. "There's a big sink just—if you go down that hall? You go like—well, just keep walkin'. There's a utility closet on the left. Like right after it—after it kinda turns. Says utility. Got some machines for washin' clothes, but it's also got a big sink in it. Figure you could use it to give her a bath—if that's what'cha wanna do."

Carol smiled at the thoughtfulness.

"You didn't have to go looking for a bathtub for her," Carol said.

"Weren't nothin' else to do," Daryl said. He cleared his throat. "Also—run into Jacqui. Said to tell you that at the other end of the hall, there's like a game room with books an' all kinda shit. Plenty of stuff to do if you wanna—do that."

Carol nodded at him.

"Thank you," she said. "I think—maybe I'll get Sophia a bath. And then—maybe I'll see if there's a book or something I want to read while she nurses. You should get a bath, too."

"You look..." Daryl stopped suddenly. His eyes somewhat widened and the returned quickly to their normal size. He didn't pick up with what he was going to say. Instead, he simply spoke with an entirely different start to his words. "Good shower?" He asked.

Carol nodded.

"Excellent," she said. "Really—amazing. And—I owe most of that to you. Thank you—for watching her."

Daryl's cheeks—even behind the grime that he needed desperately to wash off of them—showed pink. He gnawed at his cuticle. The habit, coupled with their general level of filth, was proof that he had an immune system of steel.

"She weren't no trouble," Daryl said. "I mean—you gotta know that. She don't do nothin'. She didn't do nothin'. Fussed a lil' just after you left but—but she liked walkin' in the halls."

Carol smiled.

"And I thank you for—for walking the halls with her," Carol said. "Because you didn't have to."

Daryl raised his eyebrows like he might argue with her again, but he didn't. Instead, he simply nodded his head. He reached a hand out and, catching Sophia's hand between his fingers, he worked it. Sophia stared at him and then she smiled at him around the toy she was gnawing. He returned her smile.

"Yeah," he said. "I'ma—get a shower. Soph—enjoy your bath."

"Can you say 'Daryl, enjoy your bath'?" Carol prompted. Sophia looked at her and Carol laughed at her expression before she repeated the words. Sophia thought Carol's expression was humorous so she laughed at her, as well.

"I know she can say Ma," Daryl offered. "I heard it more'n a couple times when you went to get that shower."

"Daryl?" Carol asked, prompting her daughter again.

"Prob'ly too hard for her," Daryl said.

It probably was, but he stood there like he was hoping for it, nonetheless. Sophia would grin a toothless grin at him, but she wouldn't offer him any words. Finally, Daryl announced once more that he was going to get a shower and started off down the hall. Carol stood there a moment, readjusting Sophia as she watched Daryl over her shoulder, to give Daryl some time get his things without feeling like they were up under him. Once he'd had a few moments to get to the shower, Carol would go and get Sophia's things.

While they stood there, though, and Sophia watched Daryl make his way down the hallway, Sophia squawked out at him. And Daryl stopped.

"Da!" She yelled. Daryl turned around. "Da!" Sophia yelled again.

"Is that me?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"I think it is," she said. "I think it's—it's the best she can do to say Daryl."

Daryl started back toward them.

"I thought you were going to take a shower," Carol said.

"It'd be rude to leave her hangin' like that," Daryl said. "Not even acknowledge her. Besides—I thought you was gettin' her a bath."

"I have to get her things," Carol said.

"An' I gotta get mine," Daryl said. "Might as well go together. Goin' the same place." He reached Carol and took Sophia out of her arms. Sophia didn't protest, though she did look back at Carol as Daryl started down the hall with her. She whined, just a little, but as soon as Carol started to move, she ceased fussing and returned to repeating "Da" over and over again for her entertainment—and, clearly, for Daryl's.

Carol smiled to herself. Kindness was important, and it should always be repaid. And Daryl had offered her the greatest kindness that she could remember in a long time.

Even Sophia was aware of it, and Daryl was clearly easily repaid with even the smallest recognition of appreciation for his kindness. After all, Carol didn't quite miss that all it took was a one-syllable sound from Sophia and Daryl, just a few steps ahead of her, was clearly walking with his shoulders further back and a bit more bounce to his step.

And even though she wouldn't have dared to tell him, it looked good on him.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol stood in front of the shelf and ran her finger along the spines of the books as she read the titles. Every now and again, she selected a possible book of interest, flipped it over, and read the back cover to see what it might hold.

The bookshelves were so eclectic, and the books were so well-worn, that Carol assumed they had been the result of something like a work book-swap where readers exchanged books they'd finished for books that they might want to read in the future. There were more than a few of the typical trashy bodice-rippers, so someone must have been a fan of them in what felt like a long-forgotten world.

Carol had been a fan of them, too. They were entirely unrealistic and often quite poorly written, but they gave her exactly what she wanted—a complete and total escape from her reality.

She was just settling on one of the titles when she heard Lori behind her.

"I thought I'd come in for something to read, too," Lori said, interrupting the almost complete silence of the room. Carol jumped a little at the unexpected sound and Sophia whined and threatened to fuss in her wrap—a response to Carol's change from calm to jumpy. Carol shushed her daughter and rocked her body to rock the baby.

"There's a lot of choice," Carol said. "Everything from mysteries to...well—to romance novels."

Carol held up the book in Lori's direction and Lori laughed to herself.

"Romance?" Lori asked. "Carol that's more like—porn."

Carol laughed to herself and shrugged her shoulders. The cover art of the over-muscled man cavorting on the rocky cliff with the barely-dressed, large-breasted woman made it pretty clear what kind of reading material Carol had plucked from the shelf. There was no need to pretend that she'd selected a classic to sit and entertain herself with for the evening. This was nothing so sophisticated.

"It'll be a nice bedtime story," Carol offered. "But—there are plenty of choices here, if you're looking for something else."

"Are you—all set for bedtime?" Lori asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"I think Sophia's going to sleep wonderfully after that bath. She's already zoned out. She's been humming to herself since I dried her off. Once I get her stomach full, I'm pretty sure she's going to be out for most of the night. Then I have some wine, a good book, and—for the first time in forever—I'm going to go to sleep just knowing we're absolutely safe."

Lori smiled at her.

"It's a good feeling," Lori said.

Carol nodded her head.

"It is," she said. "Are you all set?"

"I've got some wine, too," Lori said. "And Carl has some comic books, but it'll be lights out for him before long. I think I'll sleep fine. But—that wasn't really what I was talking about."

Carol furrowed her brow at Lori.

"What else is there?" She asked.

Lori laughed, but it didn't sound genuine. She looked around at some knickknacks on a shelf near her, but Carol was fully aware that she was simply using the action of running her finger over the objects to distract herself.

"I was talking about—do you feel safe, you know? If you want, Carol, I'm sure we can move people around. You don't have to stay in that room if you feel like you'd be...more comfortable elsewhere."

Carol's stomach twisted unexpectedly. She felt the cold rush of realization. She did her best, though, not to let onto it.

"I'm fine in my room," Carol said. "Everything's all set up. I don't know why I wouldn't feel comfortable there."

"I know it's a lot different in a vehicle than it is in a room," Lori said. "And I know how some men can be..."

"Especially men like Daryl?" Carol asked.

Lori looked at Carol like she'd splashed her in the face with iced water.

"I only meant that...it might be uncomfortable being in a room with a man who isn't...in any sort of relationship with you. That's all. I thought you might be more comfortable with someone else," Lori said.

"You asked Andrea the same thing?" Carol asked. "Because—I noticed she's rooming with Dale."

"I didn't," Lori said. "I mean—it's Dale."

"And Daryl is the—he's the greatest gentleman that I've ever known," Carol offered in response. Lori looked genuinely surprised and Carol was shocked to realize that her throat ached just to see Lori's expression. It was clear that, without any reason at all, Lori had judged Daryl. She had assumed him capable, or even likely, of behaving a certain way based on some very limited information and a great deal of assumption.

"I didn't mean..." Lori said.

"I know you didn't," Carol said quickly. "But—I just thought I'd let you know. What you think you see isn't always reality."

"I didn't mean..." Lori stammered again.

"I know you didn't," Carol repeated. "I know. But you should know that Daryl? He's not what you believe him to be. He's not his brother, either. And—I'm very comfortable in my room, so you don't need to...worry about me. Or talk about me with anybody else that might be worried. Nobody was very worried when I was in a tent with my husband."

"Carol..." Lori tried to interrupt.

Carol shook her head.

"I'm not angry," she said, cutting Lori off. "I never expected anything from anyone. The kindness you've all shown me is more than I expected. I'm not angry. And I don't hold any kind of grudge. I only say that to say that—nobody worried because Ed was my husband and, as my husband, he was my problem. Nobody who didn't worry then needs to worry now. I know, for a fact, that I'm safer with Daryl than I ever was with Ed."

Lori looked a little nauseous and Carol assumed that she should feel bad for making the woman feel uncomfortable. In fact, maybe there was somewhere, deep down inside her, where she did feel bad. Maybe it was the wine, though, or maybe it was something else entirely, but she also felt bold enough that she discovered the feeling was too faint to make her truly feel bad about what she'd said.

She was safer with Daryl than she'd ever been with Ed. Tonight she would sleep well and, unlike the others, it wouldn't be because she was only safe from the flesh-eating monsters outside. This would be the first night that she could sleep entirely free from all the monsters that had invaded her life.

Though he may not appear to be so at first glance, and though he may not even be aware of it, Daryl was certainly what Carol would consider a gentleman. He may not be the stereotypical gentleman that society showed as a representation of what every young girl should expect from a Prince Charming, but he was certainly a good man with a strong moral code by which he seemed determined to try to live—even though life didn't exactly seem to make it easy on him.

And, even though she wouldn't have dared to say it out loud, she didn't feel that Daryl would have to force his way onto her if he had any desire to be with her.

But he wasn't interested in her like that, and she wouldn't dare embarrass him by letting such a thought get back to him. Daryl, more than likely, had a very specific type. And Carol was almost certain that she wasn't that type. She was, and she knew it, barely anyone's type. That was one of the reasons that she'd ended up with Ed.

"I'm sorry," were the only words that escaped Lori's mouth in response. She did, indeed, look sorry. Carol didn't know if she was sorry for what Carol had experienced, sorry that nobody stepped in to help her with Ed, sorry that she'd somewhat accused Daryl of being a certain kind of person, sorry that she might have offended Carol, or simply sorry that she'd spoken at all. She didn't offer any clarification surrounding her apology and Carol didn't seek any.

Sophia started to fuss again. She was getting tired and this was about the time she began to fight her desire to sleep. She'd need to be soothed with milk and the promise that sleep—which she seemed to love and hate in equal parts—wasn't as terrible as she sometimes thought it would be. Carol rocked her body, again, in an effort to soothe her daughter before she disturbed the entire place with her cries.

"It's fine," Carol said. "I promise. I just—wanted you to know that nobody has to worry about me." Lori nodded her head.

"Am I interrupting something?" Shane asked, walking into the room. Carol might pretend that she believed the man was there to select a puzzle or a book with which to pass a few hours, but she wasn't stupid. Lori and Shane thought that nobody knew about their ongoing affair. Carol was pretty sure that Rick was the only one that didn't know about it—and that had to be because he was practically blind and willfully unobservant.

Carol smiled at him.

"Nothing at all," she said. "I was just going to get Sophia ready for bed."

"Goodnight, Carol," Shane offered sincerely.

"Goodnight, Shane," Carol said. "Lori."

She left the room before she heard a goodnight from Lori. On her way out, and without saying anything about it or being asked to do so, Carol closed the door to the entertainment room. She made her way down the hallway to the little room that she was sharing with Daryl. The door to the room was cracked, and Carol knocked quietly at it before she stepped inside. There was a pause before she heard a response from inside.

"Yeah..." Daryl called.

Carol assumed that meant that he wanted her to come in, so she stepped inside. He was sitting on the mattress that he'd dragged to the floor from the futon. His clean shirt was clinging to him, so Carol assumed that he'd just gotten out of the shower. From the looks of it, he'd thrown the shirt on quickly and practically without drying off.

Carol tossed the book she'd brought at the floor so she could lower herself down. Then she eased herself down onto the mattress and slowly unwrapped Sophia.

"Got a book?" Daryl asked.

Carol swallowed down her humor. She could give him a hard time about the stupid question, or she could accept it as an effort to make conversation. She decided to do the latter because she preferred the conversation to anything else.

"From the entertainment room," Carol said. "There's a lot there if you like cards or board games or puzzles. I would have brought you a book or a magazine if—if I'd known what you might be interested in."

"Like to read," Daryl said. Carol glanced at him and raised his eyebrows at her. She saw him bristle, but he quickly erased it with a smirk. "What? You surprised I can read?"

Carol shook her head. She understood his defensiveness. She also understood why he felt that way. He'd probably faced more than his fair share of unfair judgement.

"No," she said. "I'm only interested in what it is that you like to read."

She turned her attention to rearranging herself and getting Sophia adjusted so that she could nurse before her complaining—which was quickly growing louder—turned into a full-on fit that would be impossible to get under control quickly. It took a few tries to convince her that she wanted what she desperately wanted, but eventually Sophia latched onto Carol's breast.

Though she didn't look at him, Daryl must have been waiting for Sophia to be soothed, because he didn't speak again until she was situated. He cleared his throat.

"Magazines," he said. "I don't usually like to sit too long so—magazines. Them books with the short stories in 'em. The chicken soup ones? I like those 'cause you could read it in a sitting. Just pick a story an' go. Detective novels sometimes. If they're good. I don't like the ones that there's no chance you could figure it out 'cause it was like impossible or something."

He leaned forward and, before Carol could rescue her book from the floor, Daryl snagged it.

She felt her face burn warm. She hadn't expected him to have any interest at all in what she was reading, and now he was examining the book. She couldn't even bring herself to glance at him for the time being.

"You read this?" Daryl asked. Carol heard the sound of pages shuffling. She heard the sound of him flipping through the book. She hummed out a response since her voice seemed to have retreated to some place deep down inside her. "You like it? I mean...I guess you like it. Wouldn't read it if you didn't. You—think it's real?"

Carol swallowed.

"No," she said. "I don't think it's real. At least—it's not real to me. In my experience. Maybe that's why I read it, though. Because—it's not real. But maybe, sometimes, I wish it was. Not—not all of it. Just some of it."

Daryl cleared his throat a couple of times before he excused himself. He got up, the book going with him, and went for his bottle of whiskey. He stood, across the room, sipping from the bottle and leafing through Carol's book.

"I guess—in a way ain't none of it real," he mused. "Maybe that's why we read anything—get a couple minutes break from the shit-show we live in."

"I think so," Carol offered.

Daryl hummed to himself.

"Worst damn thing about it is how many people livin' so as to need a way to escape their lives," Daryl said. "Want some wine?"

Carol smiled to herself at the offer. The wine was the cheapest kind there was—with a twist off top—but Daryl wanted her to have some. It was clear because he was already unscrewing the lid of the bottle. Sophia would be done nursing soon and Carol had no doubt that she would sleep. Carol wasn't as tired as she should be, and she wasn't going to sleep when her daughter drifted off.

And she was enjoying the company.

"Please," she said.

Daryl smiled to himself. He seemed so pleased with such a simple word. He tucked her book under his arm and brought the wine and whiskey. He passed her the bottle and she put it down to wait until Sophia was done.

Daryl sat down with the book, and Carol noticed that he put it on the floor, but he put it some distance away from her. Maybe without meaning to, he was making it clear that he intended for them to pass some of the evening together. Perhaps he was hungry for company. Carol didn't mind.

"Maybe," she said, "this place will offer some of us a chance to live our lives in a way that we don't need to escape from as much."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You got a lotta faith in this place," Daryl said.

"Maybe I'm just hoping for the best," Carol said.

"Optimism," Daryl said.

"I'm trying my best to cultivate it," Carol offered.

Daryl smiled to himself. He nodded his head.

"It's good," he said. "We sure could use it. Besides—it'll be good for her. Kids oughta grow up with that shit. Don't need all the negativity."

"That's the idea," Carol said, touching her daughter's face as the baby nursed and fought the sleep that was creeping up on her. "To create the best kind of life that I can for her. She deserves that."

"Yeah," Daryl said. Carol smiled to herself at the simple confirmation that her child—a child who hadn't had the warmest reception from the world into which she'd come—was worthy of something as simple as a good life. "She does."


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl thought it was probably creepy to lie awake at night and watch somebody while they slept. He found himself unable to quit doing just that, however.

He was blaming it on boredom and the fact that such a sensation was something with which he was almost entirely unfamiliar given the way that they'd been living their lives lately. Since the world had somehow turned into the stuff of nightmares and the dead had decided to come to life, boredom had become a distant memory. They typically spent every moment on their toes.

With safety, though, came the opportunity for boredom.

There was also the opportunity for Daryl's mind to wander aimlessly—a pastime that his mind had always seemed to enjoy even when he didn't particularly care for it—and it reminded him that he had trouble sleeping. He'd always had trouble sleeping, of course, but sleep came easier when his body was exhausted and he knew that he had, perhaps, mere moments to get enough rest to keep his body going just a while longer. He had a lot more trouble sleeping when he had the time and energy to overthink.

Daryl had drank a good bit of liquor, but he'd also drank a good bit of water. He'd diluted it so that the alcohol wouldn't leave him with an unbearable hangover. He'd also diluted it so that he didn't get too drunk and risk scaring Carol. Sometimes he was a jolly drunk. Sometimes he got to feeling sorry for himself and he got to being the most negative person that ever walked the face of the Earth. He wouldn't ever hurt Carol, but he didn't want her even fearing that he might if she caught him all rolled up in his misery. The water kept him from getting far enough into the hole to begin to dwell on everything he'd ever suffered.

Carol hadn't drank much wine, but she'd seemed to drink enough. Her cheeks had flushed pink and she'd smiled more than Daryl had ever seen her smile before. Of course, she really hadn't had too much to smile about since they'd met.

She was lighthearted when she drank and, perhaps, that had as much to do with Daryl's mood as the water. It had been contagious, and Daryl had happily listened while she talked about this one time that she'd snuck out of her parents' house—the only time she'd ever done such a thing—to go with some friends down to a railroad track nearby and drink Boone's Farm wine until she'd thrown up. She'd had to pretend, the next day, that she was fine even though she'd felt like she'd been beaten on the head with a shovel.

Daryl had laughed. The way she told the story had made him wish that he was there, and it had led him to share with her a similar story in which he'd slipped down to a hole-in-the-wall bar not too far from where he'd grown up with Merle once their Mama had been out cold for the night. It had been one time back when the old man wasn't anywhere to be seen. Merle had been nearly old enough to drink at the bar legally, but Daryl had barely been tall enough to see over the bar. The bar tender was a man of low morals, though, and he'd let the boys take a couple of beers out back to share over a pack of Pall Malls that Merle had lifted off their mother. Daryl had smoked enough cigarettes and drank enough beer that he'd thrown up violently out back of the bar, and Merle had dragged him home—all the while scolding him that he'd have to be more of a man than that if he ever wanted to live up to the reputation that Merle had a mind to set for the both of them.

Daryl didn't know what time it might be. He didn't have a watch and the clock in the room obviously ran off batteries that were dead.

They'd talked for what felt like forever until the words came slower and slower and the stories made less and less sense. They'd talked right up until Carol had stopped right in the middle of a sentence and Daryl had looked over to find her sleeping—chin crooked uncomfortably downward and neck strained—like she'd simply just run out of juice.

He'd touched her only enough to help her slide into a comfortable position and he'd offered a pillow and covered her with a blanket. She'd barely awakened from the sleep that had suddenly and completely overtook her, but she'd mumbled something at him that he chose to take as a "thanks".

Even the baby was fast asleep in her little pen.

Daryl was left alone with his insomnia and all the thoughts that managed to pinball around in his brain whenever he tried to simply will it to be still.

He'd picked up the book that Carol brought to the room—only momentarily wishing he'd gone to get something he might prefer to read—and he thumbed through the thing and read parts of it at random. For a few moments, it had entertained him because it was entirely unlike anything he might have ever chosen to read. It hadn't taken long, though, before he'd found himself mildly disgusted by the book and he'd tossed it to the side.

A few select passages in, and he was pretty sure he had the gist of the whole novel. A guy named Felipe—all muscles and foreign accent—had what the book referred to as a "throbbing member" that must have at least vaguely resembled the business end of a Louisville Slugger. He'd used it to assault—even though the book had suggested that the encounter was pleasant, Daryl couldn't much believe that some woman would enjoy the throbbing Louisville Slugger attack—a woman named Isabelle who had been visiting the Italian seaside.

Admittedly Daryl knew very little about women, and he understood even less about them than he simply knew to be true, but if Felipe's throbbing member was what interested them, they would do better not to so much as look in Daryl's direction.

That was when Daryl had found himself first staring at Carol. The book had been tossed to the side and he was still overcoming some of the lingering disgust that the passages he'd read had left in his brain, and he'd watched her sleeping.

She had said that she wished some of it was real. That was why she'd read books like that. She'd wanted to escape her reality, and she'd wished that some of it was real.

Daryl could imagine, without any effort at all, why Carol might have wanted to escape her reality. Her husband—or what was left of him—was cold in a shallow grave. Though he was gone, the marks he'd left on her skin hadn't even had the time to heal yet. They were the garish green that bruises grew to be at this point in their healing. They'd be gone eventually but, even with them gone, there were plenty of marks he'd left behind that would stay with Carol for probably the rest of her life—marks that were both physical and otherwise.

Carol had a lot that she'd probably wanted to escape. Daryl understood that sentiment. There was a lot that he'd wanted to escape during his life as well.

But which parts of the book had she wished were real?

Daryl had mused over it for a little while, and he'd smoked a cigarette in the bed, flicking the ashes into a water bottle, while he watched Carol sleeping.

Did she wish that, like Isabelle, she might travel to the Italian seaside? Did she wish for that kind of adventure? Or was it Felipe that she was after?

Ed hadn't been much to look at. He certainly wasn't the chiseled-chested Felipe with things rippling and bulging all over his body. He'd been muscled enough, though, to overpower Carol. Did she want someone stronger than Ed, or did she simply want someone who—unlike Ed and very much like Felipe—wanted to, as the book had described it one passage, worship at the altar of her tempestuous bosoms...whatever the hell that might mean? Was she the kind of woman who expected a man to wield some kind of weapon like Felipe's trusty Louisville Slugger? Had Ed been so endowed? Or was that part of the story that she accepted as nothing more than fantasy?

Daryl had very little knowledge of how his dick might measure up to others. Admittedly, he hadn't exactly whipped the damn thing out for the perusal of too many people. His brother had been overly proud of his dick, though, and had bragged that it was an impressive gift to all of woman-kind. Though Daryl had never bothered to measure either one of them, he knew his was comparable to his brother's. He knew very little else about it, though. Up until now, his dick had really only had two primary functions: it allowed him to piss almost anywhere he liked, and it got hard at really inconvenient times to either embarrass him or send him off to jerk off somewhere in private.

Unlike his brother, Daryl had never felt that is dick was his prized possession. Also unlike his brother, he couldn't really brag about how the whole of womankind might feel about it. He hadn't really been driven to introduce it to the women he'd known.

Maybe it was for the better. If most of the women out there were looking for a throbbing ten inch cock like the one that Felipe was wielding, they'd have laughed Daryl off the face of the Earth if he'd dared to show them what it was that he was carrying around.

Still, he was almost certain that Ed hadn't been packing like that either—after all, it would take some impressive pants to hide something like that—and Daryl would almost bet that Carol knew that such a fantasy was likely just fantasy.

Of course, he didn't know why it really mattered to him.

It wasn't like Carol was interested in fucking him.

She was so fresh out of a marriage to an absolute asshole that Daryl could still make out the man's handprint on the upper part of her arm.

And besides that, she deserved better. She deserved better than the asshole she was married to, and she deserved better than Daryl. Maybe there wasn't that much to choose from in what was left of this world, but that didn't mean that she ought to settle, either, for someone who had really never been worth much of anything.

Carol wasn't interested in him at all, and it was better that way, really.

After he'd dug himself a pit to wallow in, he'd had a few more swigs of the liquor and another cigarette. He'd closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but nobody really wanted to sleep on the negative thoughts of every bad thing that they'd ever done in their lives. Nobody wanted to go to bed rolling over and over in their mind the fact that they'd really done relatively little to contribute to the world and they wouldn't be missed at all when they were gone.

Instead, he'd allowed the extra liquor to help him make a shift in his thoughts and, instead of dwelling on the negative, he'd forced himself to think of something nice—even if the something nice was no less fantastical than the worlds that they sought in books.

What if a woman like Carol did want a man like Daryl?

What if he was good enough for her? What if he could offer her the kind of life that she didn't need to seek escape from?

The thought of it gave him an unfamiliar warmth in his belly that he might have blamed on the liquor if he weren't confident that it came from something else.

What if he hadn't lost literally everything that he'd ever had—precious little though that had ever been—when the world went belly up and, instead, he was in the same kind of position that Ed had been in? What if, unlike Ed, he wasn't willing to piss away something so precious?

Daryl could imagine that he might even want a life like Rick's—a life where he had some respect because of the job to which he'd chosen to dedicate himself—but everyone in the group knew that Lori was fucking Shane on the side even though they all kept it hush-hush. Daryl wouldn't want that kind of life. If he were married to a woman like Carol, he'd be greedy to some degree. He'd want her to be just his wife. He wouldn't want to share her with any other man.

Daryl laughed to himself in the dim light of the lamp. His brother had always said he was shit at sharing. Maybe he was right. He didn't like to share his things. And the more he valued something, the less he liked the idea of sharing it.

Daryl's heartbeat had picked up speed earlier with his irritation and anxiety. Now, it slowed down and hit a steady and calm rhythm. He watched Carol sleeping. Her breathing was even and steady. Her eyes were closed and she was perfectly still except for the fact that, every now and again, she twitched uncontrollably as some nerve or muscle chose to rebel against the stillness of sleep.

What if she liked being close to him as much as he liked being close to her? What if she really liked it—enough that she didn't want it to change?

She was small and light. When she leaned against him in the truck to find room to sleep, she barely weighed anything at all. She deserved to be treated tenderly. Daryl didn't know how tender he was—he was pretty clumsy by nature—but he could imagine treating her just the way she deserved. He could imagine himself, too, treating her however it was she liked. Maybe he couldn't offer her the Italian seaside, and maybe he wasn't quite proportioned like Felipe the Conqueror, but he could offer her the so-called abandon that her book spoke of if that's what she wanted.

Even if he wasn't sure how, he would be willing to learn.

Of course, one of the reasons that his dick had been very little of a friend to him to this point in life was that he became aware that women didn't like to teach men such things past a certain age and, by the time he'd become aware of such a thing, he'd been well beyond that age.

But it didn't matter because this was just fantasy, really—something to help lure him to sleep when he might otherwise spend the whole night awake. It was no different than any other time he'd imagined what it might be like to have one of those respectable television families. The only difference, this time, was that he was borrowing a flesh and blood woman and her infant daughter for his daydreaming.

This was just something he was imagining to ward off boredom and to help himself sleep. And it wasn't hurting anyone, even if it was a little creepy to lie awake at night and watch someone while they slept.

When Daryl's imaginings began to have the desired relaxing effect on him, he reached over and switched off the lamp that he'd moved to the floor. He adjusted himself on the mattress, careful not to disturb Carol as she slept next to him, and closed his eyes.

To his mind, he brought once more the image of a life that he imagined he would have liked to have, even if it wasn't what a man like him got. And with his own kind of fantasy playing in his mind, he found the sleep that he'd been looking for to carry him away from his reality.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol woke before anyone else. It was as though her instincts let her know that Sophia would be waking up soon, and Carol didn't want her daughter disturbing the sleep of everyone in the CDC.

They were all going to be living, it seemed, in very close quarters for a while. They would, at the very least, be living there until the threat was somehow over. Carol wasn't sure how that was going to happen, or how long they'd have to reside in the CDC while the government cleaned things up, but she wasn't trying to get off on the wrong foot with everyone by making them concerned that Sophia was going to ruin their sleep every night and every morning.

Daryl was sleeping deeply. On his back, he snored. When he rolled onto his side, though, he was mostly quiet with only the occasional hint of a snore. Carol watched him while she fed Sophia and waited for enough of the morning to pass so that it would be considered proper to wander the halls and explore their new home.

Where Daryl lie on his side hugging the pillow he'd claimed for his own, his shirt was bunched up around him and Carol could see, peeking out from the fabric, the evidence of a cruel life.

Carol didn't know who had put the angry red slashes on Daryl's back for certain, or when they'd been etched into his skin, but he'd told her enough stories in the truck and during the night before that she could guess that, more than likely, his receiving those lashes had been something that had shaped who Daryl had become from a fairly early point in his life.

It could have gone in a number of directions—perhaps evidenced by what his brother, Merle, had become—but Carol thought Daryl had turned out to be a pretty wonderful man in spite of the angry red marks and the cruelty of their creator.

Seeing and having the chance to study the red marks while Daryl slept brought a sense of sadness over Carol. Something inside of her wished that she could have protected him from what he'd clearly suffered. Of course, she knew that she could have done very little to protect Daryl in any case. She couldn't even protect herself and her daughter. It had taken the work of the undead to save them from Ed.

Even though she wouldn't mention the marks, she respected Daryl for what he'd overcome and, more than that, she respected him for the man that he'd become in spite of what he'd clearly experienced.

Even though she wouldn't mention the marks, they made her feel understood on some level on which she hadn't felt understood by the members of their group that she was sure judged her for having ended up with Ed in the first place—and for having stayed beyond the first time that he'd lost his temper and she'd lost the respect that she'd had for her husband.

They didn't understand. They didn't know what it was to love someone even as they slowly did everything in their power to strip you of that love and turn it into bitterness and anger. They didn't understand what it was to hope that this change was something temporary—a storm to be weathered—even as your gut told you that it was much more than that. They didn't understand that Carol had truly begun to believe the things that Ed told her, even though somewhere deep inside of her a nagging voice suggested that he was wrong.

They didn't understand that going, sometimes, felt every bit as impossible as staying.

But, maybe, Daryl understood—at least a little.

And for that, Carol would keep his secret. She wouldn't speak of the angry red marks—not if he didn't.

When Sophia started to fuss, and Carol found herself unable to immediately get her daughter's displeasure under control, she quickly turned her body somewhat away from Daryl. As he woke, Carol noticed out of the corner of her eye that even his waking instinct was to tug at his shirt and pull it into place. He sat up on the mattress, clearly half asleep, and stared at Carol.

Maybe he was trying to tell if she'd seen anything. She didn't say a word about the scars that worried him. Instead, she offered an apology for Sophia's fussing as she bounced her daughter on her leg.

"Ain't shit to be sorry for," Daryl offered. "Kid's allowed to cry sometimes. Somethin' wrong with her or she's just pissed?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"I think she's just pissed," Carol said. "Bored? She's not wet. I changed her. She's not hungry because I just fed her. She's just..."

"A baby," Daryl offered.

Carol sighed.

"She's going to wake everyone up and they're going to hate her for it," Carol said.

"Fuck 'em," Daryl said. "Here—you gettin' tired. Give her here."

Carol was surprised when Daryl lifted her daughter out of her arms. She was getting frustrated with her inability to calm the little girl and Daryl recognized that. He had no reason to recognize it, or to care, but he did. Sophia continued to fuss once she was in Daryl's arms, so he got up and left the mattress. He fumbled through the contents of the little box of supplies Carol had moved beside the crib and he came up with a pack of pacifiers that he ripped open, one-handed, enough to free one of them. He offered pacifier to Sophia. She stopped crying as she considered it, and she stared at Daryl with her brow furrowed. Tears still hung in her eyelashes and she whimpered, not sure how long she wanted to wait before launching back into a fit.

Daryl seemed more amused than bothered by her tears. He smiled at her angry expression and Carol watched him rub the nipple of the pacifier back and forth on the bottom lip that Sophia protruded out at him.

In the end, his antics won Sophia over and she took the pacifier. Carol had barely been able to keep up with a pacifier for Sophia. Her daughter had enjoyed them when they could be found and cleaned, but their life hadn't been very conducive to keeping up with them. This one came with a clip that Daryl gingerly fashioned to the baby's shirt.

He rummaged back in the box and came out with a few other items. Without saying anything to Carol, he offered a small stuffed animal to Sophia. She accepted it and watched everything he was doing with his free hand with a great deal of attention while she sucked on the pacifier.

He had a book in his hand.

Daryl sat down on the mattress and immediately deposited Sophia in his lap. He opened the book and turned the cardboard cover to a page before he started to read it aloud to Sophia—a simple tale about two mice who learned to be the best of friends despite some simple differences they had.

When he was done reading, Sophia abducted the board book and turned it around and around in her hands, twisting her wrists back and forth to happily move the book.

It was only then that Daryl looked back at Carol. Immediately his cheeks ran red and his thumb found its way to his mouth. He chewed at the corner of his thumb, nipping a piece of skin free with his teeth that he unceremoniously spit somewhere to the side and, likely, among their blankets.

"What?" He asked.

"Hmm?" Carol hummed at him.

"What the hell you lookin' at me like that for? I weren't gonna hurt her," Daryl said.

Carol laughed to herself.

"That was actually the very last thing on my mind," Carol said. She shifted around on the mattress and changed her position so that she was at least somewhat facing Daryl and Sophia. "No—I didn't think you were going to hurt her. I was actually thinking how good you are with her. You're a natural."

"Stop," Daryl commanded.

Carol couldn't help but smile at the way that he said it and the way that he looked at her, quickly averting his eyes to watch Sophia's toying with the board book.

He told her to stop, but it was clear that he enjoyed the praise. He simply, Carol assumed, wasn't sure how to respond to it.

"You are," Carol said. "She's as happy as she can be right now. I couldn't do that."

"You was gettin' frustrated," Daryl said. "Tired. That's all. I just woke up. I'm fresh. It ain't nothin' more'n that. It's the stuff that got her calm."

Carol swallowed her smile back and nodded her head.

"If that's what you want to believe," she offered softly. "I can take her. You don't have to hold her."

"She looks good," Daryl said. "Comfortable."

Carol accepted that as his way of saying that he preferred to hold the baby without forcing him into actually saying the words. She didn't press. Sophia was content and Daryl wasn't bothered by holding her, so Carol saw no reason to force her out of his lap.

"She does look comfortable," Carol agreed.

Sophia glanced at her when she spoke that time, but immediately she returned her attention to the very serious examination that she was giving the book. Daryl helped her turn a page. Then he laughed to himself.

"Wish to hell I'da knowed they was books in that box last night," Daryl said. "I couldn't get to sleep."

"They're all children's books," Carol said.

"Woulda been fine with me," Daryl said. "I ended up readin' some of your book."

Carol felt her stomach clench. She felt ashamed of the books because she enjoyed them—for what they were—but she knew that they weren't respectable literature by any stretch of the imagination. She felt her face run warm. Daryl smirked at her, though, and furrowed his brows.

"You said you—wish some of it was true," Daryl said. Carol shrugged her shoulders in response. It felt like the only response that she could make. Daryl cleared his throat and nodded his head. "Which part?" He asked.

"What?" Carol asked. She was surprised that Daryl was asking her a question about the reading material instead of simply giving her a hard time for her interest in the book. She hadn't prepared herself for a question.

"Which part you wish was true?" Daryl asked.

"I haven't read that one," Carol said.

"But they was a reason you took it off the shelf," Daryl offered. "You told me they was other books down there. Why'd you pick that one an' not—not somethin' else?"

"How much did you read?" Carol asked.

"Enough to know that book ain't right to read out loud to Soph here," Daryl offered.

Carol's cheeks ran hotter than they had before. She imagined they had to practically be glowing red.

"If you're just going to make fun of me..." Carol said.

"It's an honest question," Daryl responded.

"I like the romance," Carol offered.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I ain't makin' fun!" He said quickly. Sophia stopped what she was doing and craned her neck to look at him. He assured her that all was fine and she only stared at him a moment before she returned to what she was doing and accepted his assessment of the situation. "I ain't," he said softly. "But—the romance? I don't know a lot about romance—and I saw a lotta things in that book—but I weren't exactly thinking none of them was romance."

"Some of it is," Carol said. "And I told you—I haven't read that one. Maybe it's not very good. It isn't fair, though...I haven't asked you to defend anything that you like."

Daryl held a hand up in her direction. She glanced at his face and realized, for just a moment and very much to her horror, that her vision was blurring slightly. Daryl's stance was similar to one that he might take if he were about to try to pet an animal that he wasn't sure was domesticated. He shushed her quietly.

"You don't gotta defend nothin'," he said. "Hell—I was just askin'. I take it back. Read whatever you want."

Carol swiped at the one warm tear that had escaped.

"Stupid," she muttered. It was nothing more than embarrassment that had chased the salty liquid from her eyes.

"It's OK," Daryl offered.

"I don't know about that book," Carol said. "But—sometimes there's romance. Flowers and...candles and...I don't even know. Just—romance. Like..."

"I get it," Daryl said, interrupting her when it was clear that she really wasn't sure how to continue. Carol kept her eyes down a moment longer. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. Daryl cleared his throat. "I do. Sorry I asked. You right. Don't owe nobody an explanation about shit—especially me."

Carol dared to roll her eyes up to look at him, then. He was sitting there, still holding a satisfied Sophia who sucked her pacifier happily and tried to manipulate the book into doing things it simply wasn't going to do. He was looking at her, too, with something on his face that Carol hadn't seen in a very long time.

It was genuine concern. It wasn't disgust like she frequently saw from Ed. It wasn't pity like she frequently saw from everyone else. It was genuine concern. And just the sight of it threatened to return the tears to her eyes that she'd chased away.

"Let's just forget it?" Carol asked.

Daryl nodded his head.

"Sorry I brung it up," he offered.

Carol shook her head. She forced a smile.

"No," she said. "Don't be. I think—it's late enough. Let's find that dining area and kitchen again. I'll see what kind of rations we have for breakfast."

"I can help cook or—whatever," Daryl offered. Carol could hear a hint of panic in his voice like he felt obligated to make the offer but unsure about whether or not he could actually fulfill it. She smiled at him genuinely then.

"You entertain Sophia," Carol said. "It'll help me more than you can imagine. I'll cook the breakfast."


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Here's another chapter.**

 **So as much as I love Caryl, you guys also know that I love for characters to have other relationships, too. I like for them to have the chance to grow in friendships as well as in their romantic relationship. That shouldn't be expected to be any different here, even if what I write veers off from canon.**

 **Also, as I'm planning ahead, I must once again ask your forgiveness for the absolutely wrecked timeline that I'm about to follow. Please excuse the weird aging that's bound to take place with Sophia at certain points. I ask the same suspension of disbelief that you had with Carl on the show who was able to go from a baby-faced kid to a practical man in something like two "universe years". I'm sorry! I'll do my best. LOL**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Andrea had been one of the few members of the group to show some interest in Sophia. She'd also been one of the few members of the group to openly show her distaste for Ed, going so far as to challenge him, once, not too long before his death.

She was four or five years Carol's junior, and she'd taken a considerably different path in life than Carol had, even though they'd ended up at the same place now. She'd told Carol that she'd been a lawyer. She'd dedicated her life to helping others through the kinds of cases that she preferred to work.

Her little sister, Amy, had been a great deal younger than Andrea. She'd been visiting Andrea from college when the whole thing had happened. Andrea had protected Amy more like a mother than a sister from the time that Carol had met them, but she'd admitted to Carol that life and the age difference between them meant that she'd never spent a great deal of time with her sister. She felt guilty for their lack of relationship. Andrea had found a positive in all of this because she thought she would finally have the chance to really get to know Amy and to grow close to her.

But Amy had been killed the same night that Ed had died.

After dinner was done at the CDC, Lori and Jacqui had offered to help Carol with the dishes. Lori hadn't failed to notice that Andrea hadn't offered her assistance. It didn't matter to her that Andrea sat alone, removed from the group and staring off into space, or that there was hardly enough room to do the dishes with three sets of hands in the cramped space of what had once been a break room. Lori's only concern was whether or not she was being asked to do more than her share of work.

Carol was more concerned about the mental state of Andrea than she was about whether or not she had one more cup to wash than she would have if she'd given the job to the blonde woman who had seemed like she'd be content to disappear into thin air entirely.

When everyone had gone their separate ways to find entertainment, Andrea was still sitting at the table. Dale had tried to coax her to do something to entertain herself, so she'd settled for taking a book that he'd offered her. It lay on the table, unopened, in front of her.

Carol lingered to clean the kitchen area long after it was really clean enough. She'd kept Sophia on a blanket on the floor so that her daughter could stretch her muscles, and she gathered both Sophia and her blanket up when she felt it was finally time to admit that there was no more cleaning to be done. Carol made her way into the room where Andrea was sitting at the table and she sat down beside her.

Andrea didn't look in her direction, and Carol didn't take her lack of interest to heart.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" Carol asked. "I need to feed Sophia and—well, I know that Lori prefers it if I don't feed her where Rick's around."

Andrea hummed. She looked at Carol then.

"She certainly wouldn't want her husband to get the same ideas she's got," Andrea said.

Carol laughed to herself.

"Nobody knows anything about that," Carol said.

"Except Rick, maybe," Andrea said. She watched Carol very intently as Carol got Sophia situated to feed and convinced her that she wanted something to top off what little bit of baby food she'd eaten at dinner. Carol didn't take Andrea's staring as actual staring. She got the feeling that Andrea was looking at her without really seeing her. She was probably entirely unaware that she was staring at all.

"Do you like your room?" Carol asked.

"What?" Andrea asked.

"Your room," Carol said. "Do you like your room?"

"It's a room," Andrea said.

"My room is nice," Carol said. "There's lots of space. It doesn't feel crowded. There's room for Sophia to get down and move around. I might be imagining things, but I feel like she's trying to get up on her hands and knees. She might actually start crawling soon."

"When do they usually do that?" Andrea asked. "Crawl, I mean."

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"I never got around to reading the books," Carol said. "I don't know. But she's clearly feeling some interest in exploring. She's starting to notice things. I think that the only thing that's kept her from crawling so far has been the fact that it hasn't been safe to put her down anywhere. Now I can. We're safe here."

"For how long?" Andrea asked.

"What?" Carol asked.

"How long?" Andrea asked. "How long are we safe here? Do we just—stay here forever?"

Carol swallowed. She could feel the emotion behind Andrea's questions, even though the woman was clearly doing her best to simply swallow everything down.

Carol's loss had brought freedom. In fact, she hadn't even realized it before, but she felt no grief for Ed. She'd mourned her marriage to him a long time ago. She'd mourned everything she ever cared about when it came to Ed years ago. She wasn't mourning him now. His death had brought relief.

Andrea, though, had suffered a great loss and she was in a deep state of mourning.

Lori hadn't seen that. She'd been too worried about washing an extra spoon.

Carol reached her hand out and gently squeezed Andrea's arm. Andrea moved enough to catch Carol's hand in her own. She squeezed it.

"We'll be here until the government cleans things up," Carol said. "I'm sure that—the CDC is proof that they're working on a cure."

"We haven't exactly seen Jenner doing much work," Andrea pointed out.

"Maybe they've already found a cure. Maybe they're distributing it," Carol said. "It might not be long at all before things are back to normal. Six months. A year?"

"And then?" Andrea asked. "What? What happens then?"

"We leave the CDC," Carol said. "We—rebuild."

Andrea laughed to herself.

"We just pick up and go back to our lives like the world never came to a halt? There's nothing left. We're the only people that are left. What kind of lives do we lead?"

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"We'll figure it out," she said. "The same way we always have."

Andrea nodded her head. She wiped at her face with her sleeve and Carol wished she had a tissue to offer her. She didn't, though, and Andrea didn't seem to mind the fact that her sleeve would have to suffice for the time being.

"We'll just keep going," Andrea said.

"That's the idea," Carol said. She squeezed Andrea's hand to ground her and to remind her that she was there. When Sophia squirmed, Carol pulled her hand away only long enough to readjust things so that she could hold her daughter upright. When Sophia began to fight that, Andrea reached out for her. Carol made the transfer and held her breath, praying that, just this time, Sophia might be empathetic enough to realize that the woman needed to hold her.

Sophia seemed to understand. Andrea stood up with her, rocking her whole body to rock Sophia, and Sophia looked satisfied. She looked at Andrea—stared hard into her face—and then she nearly body slammed herself against her. Andrea kissed Sophia's face and Sophia, satisfied with the affection, slipped her fingers into her mouth. Andrea found the pacifier that Daryl had clipped to Sophia's outfit earlier and slipped it into her mouth and the baby began humming to herself as she leaned against her new companion.

Andrea closed her eyes as she rocked the baby and smiled to herself.

"I always wanted to have a baby," Andrea said. "Maybe two."

"It looks good on you," Carol said. Andrea didn't respond to her. She stood there, the happy expression on her face, and simply rocked Sophia. Carol thought about it a moment. She cleared her throat. "Motherhood—it really does look good on you, Andrea. I'm sure you'd be—a wonderful mother. You could practice with Sophia some, if you'd like. It seems like she might like to have an aunt."

Andrea's hint of a smile faded into a frown and she brushed her lips against Sophia's head again. She kept her eyes closed.

"I could be an honorary aunt," she said, "but—I'll never be a mother."

"You have a lot of time left, Andrea," Carol said. "You could be a mother three or four times over if you wanted."

Andrea opened her eyes.

"In what world, Carol?" Andrea asked. "Look around. We might be spending the rest of our lives here. In the CDC. Dale is old enough to be my father. Lori—she can't be satisfied with just the family that she has. She can't be happy to have a husband and a son. She's got to have a boyfriend, too. Jacqui and T-Dog? It's just a matter of time. You know how much he cares for her and, eventually, she's going to realize it too." Andrea laughed to herself. Carol didn't believe the laugher at all. "You and Daryl. What does that leave me with? Glenn? Jenner?"

Carol laughed to herself when her chest tightened. It was the only way that she could think to get some air.

"There's nothing going on with me and Daryl," Carol said.

"Except there is," Andrea said. She shook her head. "I don't think it's been one of those things like Lori and Shane. I don't think you ever would have been the type. But it's there. Everyone can see it."

"They can't see anything," Carol said, "because there's nothing there to see. Daryl—he doesn't see me like that." Andrea stared at her and Carol shook her head. "He doesn't. He sees me—he sees me as a member of the group. A friend, maybe. Someone who has a daughter that he's somewhat fond of."

Andrea stood there silent for a moment, continuing to rock Sophia from side to side. Carol could see that her daughter was growing sleepy. She'd go to sleep, soon, soothed by Andrea's swaying.

"I notice you didn't say much about how you feel about him," Andrea said. "You told me how he sees you, but you didn't say—you didn't say much about how you see him."

Carol's chest tightened again. She shook her head.

"It doesn't matter," Carol said.

"Of course it matters," Andrea said.

"It doesn't," Carol said. "Because—no matter how I see him, he sees me as a friend. Nothing more. So—that's how I'll have to see him."

Andrea sighed.

"There's no life for me if we stay here," Andrea said. "There's no future here. I don't have anyone."

"You're not alone," Carol said. "Most of us—all we have is each other. Besides—what's wrong with Glenn?"

Andrea laughed to herself.

"He's a baby," she said. "I'd never forgive myself for corrupting him. Besides—he doesn't see me like that."

"He's barely old enough to see anyone like that," Carol said. "But we were talking about the future. Jenner?"

"Have you noticed how creepy he is?" Andrea asked.

"I thought you wanted a baby," Carol said. "You didn't mention an award-winning romance."

"Maybe I want both," Andrea said. She sighed. "It doesn't matter. I'm getting neither. There's no life for me if we're stuck in here. And—since we're the only people alive—there's no life for me if we leave here."

Carol stood up and walked over to where Andrea was standing. Sophia was pretty much asleep in her arms, but Andrea failed to notice the baby was sleeping against her. Carol reached out her hands. She brushed Andrea's hair back from her face and, using the pads of her thumbs, she wiped the few stray tears off her cheeks.

She gave her the best smile she could.

"There's a life for you," Carol said. "You have a future. I know—it's hard for you to see it right now. But you have to keep living for it."

"Why?" Andrea asked.

Carol smiled at her.

"Because it would be tragic for your babies to miss out on having you for a mother," Carol said. At least it got a smile out of Andrea, even though Carol could still detect there were tears behind it. "Look how good you are with Sophia. She's out already."

"I don't want to be alone," Andrea said softly.

"You won't be," Carol said. "None of us are alone in here, but I'll make you a promise. I've never liked being alone either. If we get out of here—and there's nobody else left alive? We'll live together. OK? I won't leave you alone."

Andrea smiled, this time quite sincerely, and raised her eyebrows at Carol.

"And what's Daryl going to say about that?" Andrea asked.

Carol's stomach twisted.

"I told you, Daryl doesn't see me that way," Carol said. "Even hearing you joke about it would probably horrify him."

"Then I won't let him hear me," Andrea said. "Until he's ready to hear it. And, maybe, until you're ready to hear it."

Carol wondered if there was something there—something she couldn't see. Or was it only her feelings for Daryl that Andrea could detect.

She couldn't imagine that she would ever be the type that Daryl would be interested in being with. Still, just thinking about it made her somewhat nervous.

She reached for Sophia and Andrea easily made the exchange.

"Thank you," Andrea said.

"For what?" Carol asked.

"For just—talking to me," Andrea said. "For offering—to let me live with you if we leave here and find out there's nothing more out there."

Carol smiled at her. She reached out her hand and squeezed Andrea's arm.

"I'm going to count on it," Carol said. "And—Andrea?"

Andrea hummed at her.

"I expect to see you in the morning," Carol said. "You hear me?" Andrea hummed at her again. "Don't let me down."

Andrea nodded.

"I'll be here," she said. "That's what we do, after all. We just—keep going."


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Being underground meant that it was easy to lose track of time. Days and nights really meant nothing. They were governed by the one electric clock that glowed red with the time in the large computer room filled with computers that no longer ran. They consulted the glowing clock to decide when they should eat, and when they should sleep. It was a habit leftover from their not-so-distant-yet-impossibly-distant pasts. Daryl assumed that, eventually, they would give into their animal selves once again like their ancestors had, and they'd allow themselves to be governed by their instincts instead of the electric glow of the government-sanctioned mind control.

That was, of course, if that same government entity failed to get society back online. They were supposed to have everything they needed for as long as they needed to remain there and, so far their supplies was fine, but Daryl hadn't seen any evidence of how or when the government could be expected to deliver more supplies.

As the days—and possibly weeks or even months ticked on, since Daryl felt like he'd lost all track of time—most people seemed to be settling into a routine. They seemed to be settling into the space. There wasn't much to do, so people kept busy with napping, reading, playing board games, or having conversations.

Maybe their entertainment was one reason that Daryl was starting to feel as though he was losing track of time. There were times when he was so bored that he felt like he'd fallen asleep without actually having closed his eyes.

He mostly entertained himself with Sophia. Carol didn't seem to mind him taking up time with her baby, and he was fascinated by the fact that she never seemed bored. In fact, now that she had learned to move around, she was never bored. At first, she'd learned to simply balance herself on her hands and knees for a bit before she'd belly-flopped onto the floor and cried about the absolutely miserable condition that she clearly felt her life was in. It hadn't taken very long, though, before she'd gotten more confident, and she'd built up enough strength to remain in her desired position. Then she'd started rocking her body back and forth. As soon as she seemed pleased with the constant redistribution of weight, Daryl had entertained himself by taking a spot next to her on the floor, in the same position, and suggesting that she mimic him and crawl forward.

Sophia had actually, somehow, mastered going backwards before she'd gotten the hang of going forward. Much to Carol's delight, though, it hadn't taken very long for Sophia to learn to go forward. It seemed, too, that as soon as she learned to go forward with a few nervous movements, she'd found her confidence and she'd begun practically travelling at a run on her hands and knees.

Daryl enjoyed Sophia's company. She was simple. There was nothing complicated at all about the child. She wasn't dramatic for the sake of it. If she was crying, there was something wrong. Even if it wasn't something that, perhaps, they would have thought of as serious, it was serious to her. As soon as the problem was solved, though, she was as happy as anyone could ever hope to be.

Daryl enjoyed Carol's company, too, for many of the same reasons.

Some of their group members generated a great deal of drama. Andrea was in mourning for her sister and, as far as Daryl could tell, she simply wasn't handling it well at all. She seemed about as low as a body could get and, honestly, Daryl wasn't sure that she'd still be with them if it weren't for Dale watching her like a hawk for practically every hour of the day. She seemed like she'd be content to simply waste away if she were given the chance to do so. Lori was eternally unhappy. Daryl had never seen a person who so determined to be unhappy with her situation. He didn't know if she had a middle name, but he was almost certain that "need" was it. She was always needing something. In fact, she needed more than Sophia did and, in actuality, he found her a great deal whinier about her needs than the baby.

But at least she had both Rick and Shane nearly tripping over each other to try to supply what she needed to suit her every whim.

If the two of them didn't know what the hell was going on, and that both of them were being played by Lori, then Daryl had decided neither of them were smart enough to find their way out of a paper bag, and it was a good damn thing that they'd found the CDC or they'd have never survived outside it.

He'd told Sophia as much while he'd played with her. He imagined she was amused by his observations—though Carol suggested that much of Sophia's humor might be contributed to gas.

Carol wasn't complicated like the others surrounding them. She was simply happy to be there, and she was happy that Sophia was happy. She cooked nearly every meal for them out of rations and she cleaned up without the bitching that usually issued forth from Lori. In fact, more often than not, Carol excused Lori from any kind of domestic duties just to save herself the pain of listening to the complaints—that's what she'd told Daryl.

Carol was easy company to keep. She talked to Daryl, but more than that, she listened to him. She never treated him like she expected him to know less than her. She never cut him off when he spoke because she believed that he wouldn't know what he was talking about. And, when he was feeling quiet, she never forced him to talk. She accepted that, sometimes, he'd rather just sit and be quiet.

Carol didn't seem to mind being quiet with him, either, and he appreciated that. After all, just because he didn't want to talk, that didn't mean that he wanted to be alone.

Carol understood, even without him saying it, it seemed, that Daryl didn't care for being alone. That was one of the reasons that she let him take Sophia with him whenever he felt like he might want to stretch his legs a little while still not being alone. When he took Sophia with him on walks around the darkened corridors of the abandoned lower-level of the CDC, Carol spent her time entertaining herself with books and taking naps in their room. She seemed to like it a great deal, and Sophia's company suited Daryl just fine.

Sophia liked the adventures, too. At the very least, she never complained about them.

There was a great deal of the floor that remained dark and unused. They didn't need that much room to live and Jenner said it was a drain on their power to keep the unused spaces lit. Daryl assumed that the government probably rationed their power. Much of the power had been out on the surface, so it was reasonable to assume that they weren't able to create too much power without a full staff of employees to run the power companies.

And the government, after all, had a great deal to do if they were finding solutions to the epidemic that seemed to have shut down the whole world.

Daryl had questioned Jenner a couple of times about how, exactly, things would be cleaned up. He'd asked if there would be some kind of vaccine that was offered to those of them who were still alive. He'd asked how they planned to manage those that were dead and reanimated. He'd asked if there were other places where people were living, just like them, until the time came to come crawling back up to the surface like moles.

There was something shifty about Jenner in Daryl's opinion, because he'd always managed to skirt every one of Daryl's questions. He always seemed to find a reason to disappear at the very moment that Daryl presented him with something. There was work to be done, apparently, when there were questions to be answered.

He was, in theory, working night and day, but Daryl didn't really see too much getting done. Every time he'd somewhat slinked around to see what the asshole was up to, it looked like he was just sitting and drinking at his desk with the same kind of air of depressed boredom that was starting to surround all of them.

Daryl left the asshole alone for the most part, though.

For as much as he knew that people judged him for not being highly educated, he also know that those who were too highly educated could be difficult to deal with and difficult to understand. He accepted that it was possible that Jenner wasn't as shady as he seemed. Maybe he was simply too smart to know how to deal with all of them and, as a result, he ran away to try to escape uncomfortable situations.

They had the food that he'd promised them. They had the luxuries that he'd promised them. They hadn't gone without anything since they'd come to the CDC. He might seem like he was lying, but the fact of the matter was that there was no proof that he was lying about anything.

Maybe they were really going to live there, under the care of the government, until the world above them got put back together.

The only thing they had to do was wait it out, attempt not to succumb to insanity brought on by extreme boredom, and let the electric clock on the wall govern when they acted certain ways.

It was the day that the clock changed that Daryl started to feel the overwhelming need for some answers from the man who did his best to avoid his guests at any time that wasn't mealtime.

The clock that had once ticked off the minutes and hours of their days and nights changed.

Suddenly, it was going backward from a point of unknown origin.

Daryl had noticed the change in the clock when, stretching his legs on a walk with Sophia while Carol had taken a shower, he'd lengthened the normal path of his walk to include the main computer room with all its dark screens and offline computers.

Daryl had stood there staring at it for some time, assuring himself that it was actually malfunctioning and running backward a second at a time, before he'd finally gone to drop Sophia off with her mother to spend some time nursing and crawling happily around their little room. Then he'd gone in search of the scientist from whom he absolutely intended to demand some answers.

He'd found Jenner in the bubble-like office that he seemed most fond of. The man had been sitting, staring off into space, and he was drinking a bottle of some brown liquor from their overflowing collection of spirits.

Daryl beat on the door and it rattled slightly in its frame.

Jenner eyed him from his seat with a somewhat bored expression. He didn't move, at first, like he didn't intend to come to the door at all.

Daryl beat on the door again, this time pissed off at the fact that Jenner seemed to think he could just ignore him entirely.

"I fuckin' see you in there!" Daryl yelled. "Walls are made of fuckin' glass, asshole."

Daryl could practically hear Jenner's sigh as he downed another swallow of the brown liquid. He put the bottle down slowly and got up from his chair. The slight wobble to his walk told Daryl that this wasn't his first drink. He'd been there more than a few minutes.

"What can I do for you?" Jenner asked when he opened the door.

"The clock's broke," Daryl said.

"I'm sorry? What?" Jenner asked.

"The clock," Daryl said. "It ain't countin' up no more. It's countin' down. What the hell's that all about?"

Jenner laughed to himself.

"It isn't broken," he said. "Actually—it's working just like it was designed to work."

"It's goin' backwards," Daryl said. "What's it countin' down?" Daryl asked.

Jenner sighed. He shook his head.

"It doesn't matter, really," he said.

"Matters to me, asshole," Daryl said. He put his hand up in time to stop the door when Jenner moved to close it and shut him back outside the glass bubble. "What the hell is that clock countin' down to?"

Jenner laughed to himself. He raised his eyebrows and nodded his head.

"You're right," he said. "Maybe—it matters. Gather the others. Tell them to meet me in the main computer room. We've got to talk about—what comes next."

"You mean the government comin' to get us?" Daryl asked. His stomach tightened. On the one hand, he wanted to believe that the government was coming, just as they'd all believed, and that the timer was marking the time they had left to prepare to venture back into the world above them. On the other hand, Daryl's gut told him that wasn't the case at all.

Jenner turned to walk away, back toward his bottle.

"Get the others. Let's meet in the main computer room."


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"It was installed as a failsafe in the event of a major catastrophe," Jenner said.

He'd brought them all into the room filled with the quiet, dark-screened computers. It was the large room where the clock was mounted that had begun to run quickly toward some time that was unknown to them.

They sat around in chairs to listen to the man's story—many of them not having abandoned entirely the entertainment with which they'd been engaged when he'd requested they gather together outside of their normal mealtime gatherings.

"This place has bacteria in it that you wouldn't even want to dream about. If it ever had the chance to get out and spread, it would wipe out the entire population—or whatever's left of it," Jenner said.

"Yeah—seems like something already got out," Shane offered. "If you haven't noticed, there are corpses outside that are just walking around like they don't have anything else to do and don't have the expectation to be dead and still."

"It was something unlike anything we'd ever seen before," Jenner said. "We've been working to find a cure to the virus—day and night—since the first case was reported and we realized it wasn't some kind of elaborate hoaxe from someone seeking their fifteen minutes of fame. Scientists from all over the world. At least—I guess they're still out there. After we lost connection..." He let his sentence fade out before he picked it up again in a different starting place. "The other diseases, though—they're the things of nightmares. If they were to combine...I'm talking about plagues that you believed were long dead. The government knew that couldn't be allowed to happen. So they put in the safeguard in place. In the event of a catastrophe, the CDC would keep running until the last possible minute. It would literally be the last stronghold to go. The power would stay on as long as possible to allow the government every opportunity to restore order. It would well and truly mean that humanity had simply stopped if the CDC were to shut down. Nobody ever knew how long the power would last—at least not exactly—but I guess we know now."

"So you're sayin' that—we're runnin' outta power?" Daryl asked.

"When the clock strikes zero," Jenner said, glancing over his shoulder at the numbers that seemed to be racing faster than a regular timer.

"And I'm guessin' that the government—it ain't comin' to give us more," Daryl said.

"We wouldn't be in this situation if the government were running," Jenner said. "This—this is a sign that the government has completely shut down. Humanity as we knew it is done. There's no more electricity. Everything up there has stopped functioning."

"It's not like the world ended while we were in here," Shane offered.

"Look around," Andrea said. "The world ended a long time ago. We're just holding on for—something."

"The world didn't end," Daryl said. "The government mighta shut down, but the government ain't the world. Power ain't the world. We've done fine without it. Hell—fuckin' ages people lived without it."

"So we leave," Rick said. "We pack up and we go back out there."

"Not exactly," Jenner said.

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" Daryl asked.

"I told you that once the doors closed, they wouldn't open again," Jenner said. "There was always a point where lockdown would occur to save whatever might be left of the human race. I knew it was coming. The exterior doors were locked days ago."

"What the hell do you mean locked?" Daryl asked.

"I mean it the only way I know how to mean it," Jenner said. "Locked. We're locked in."

"Then you unlock them," Daryl said. He could feel fear churning in his gut. Daryl had never done well with fear. It tended to morph itself into other emotions that he was better equipped to deal with. The fear that rolled around in his gut at the moment was quickly threatening to turn into boiling anger.

"It doesn't work that way," Jenner said.

Daryl felt the fear-turning-to-anger surge up inside of him. He thought he could feel it like a hot liquid rising up to burn his shoulders and chest and throat. He tried to swallow it down before it exploded out of him, but it would have to go somewhere. It would have to come out somehow.

"That's sure as hell how locks work," he growled out. "You can't keep us locked up down here forever until we starve to fuckin' death or run outta air or some shit!"

"That's not how it works either," Jenner said. "If the germs here were allowed to get out, the whole world—or whatever is left of it—would be in danger. The government couldn't allow that, so they set it up so that the building would self-destruct. When the clock reaches zero, there will be a wave of gas and heat hot enough to kill every dangerous, living thing in the building."

"You mean it's going to blow up?" T-Dog asked. Jenner barely nodded, but he really didn't need to move his head too dramatically. They were all watching him closely enough to be able to see the slight movement. "We're going to blow up?"

"It'll be quick and painless," Jenner said. "Less than a millisecond and it'll all cease to be. There will be no more suffering...just peace."

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Daryl had heard of people blacking out with fear or anger and, in essence, waking up to find that they'd acted in a way that was entirely unlike them while they'd been in some kind of state of extreme stress.

Maybe that was what had happened to him.

He remembered very little of the time that passed just after Jenner told them that they'd be blown to pieces by the exploding building. His anger had taken over. He'd only somewhat come back into himself when he'd heard Carol yelling out at Jenner about Sophia.

She wasn't even concerned that she'd die by being blown to bits and burned until there was nothing left. The only thing she feared was that her daughter would die in such a way—that her daughter would die at all.

Carol usually remained fairly quiet around the others, and she hardly ever spoke out against something that someone had to say, presumably because her husband would have punished her for having opinions that were contrary to his own, but she'd yelled at Jenner because she'd felt so passionate about his trapping them there to die.

The fire-box must have been fairly easy to get open, because Daryl didn't remember shattering the glass to gain ownership of the axe. He did remember, though, Jenner yelling at him that his efforts to break down the door were futile. The door was made to withstand things that he couldn't even imagine. They absolutely would not fall to the efforts of one man wielding an axe.

But Daryl was at least going to try. If he was going to die, if Carol was going to die, and if Sophia was going to die, he was at least going to try. The building might still blow up around them. He might still be incinerated, but he was going to die with the axe in his hands and he was going to die trying to tear the door down to earn them some freedom.

When the door did open before him, Daryl knew that it wasn't the axe that had freed them.

Jenner was yelling at them that the upper-level doors would never open, but Daryl wasn't listening to that. They'd find a way out.

He immediately yelled to Carol to come with him, and she hit her feet. The only possessions she had on her were those that she carried the small bag that held some of Sophia's requirements. Carrying it around with her, often slung over her shoulder, made it easy for her to soothe her daughter no matter where she was within the CDC. Now she brought it with her, Sophia hugged tightly to her body and further secured by the wrap in which she still commonly travelled, when she darted past Daryl at his command.

Behind them, some of their group members were deciding to stay. They were making the decision that the death offered by the CDC was preferable to life outside. Carol tried to stop when she heard them declaring that they were staying, and she called out the names of Andrea and Jacqui—two who had said they would stay—but she didn't linger too long. Daryl reminded her quickly about Sophia and she left the two women to make their own decisions. She had to make the best decision for her daughter.

Reaching the ground floor was easy when they were all driven by adrenaline to take the stairs two at a time. On the ground floor, Daryl discovered that the glass in the windows was not ordinary glass. It deflected the blows of the axe and very nearly sent Daryl toppling backward. In a fit of anger and frustration, Daryl searched for anything else that he might use to break the windows. Finding a chair, he flung it at the glass. Rick and Shane quickly joined into the fight. They banged on the glass with anything and everything they could find, but nothing had the power to break through.

"I think I have something," Carol said, almost frantically inserting herself into the space where they were trying desperately to achieve freedom for what was left of their group.

"No offense, Carol," Shane snarled, "but I think it's going to take more than a nail file to get through this glass."

Carol was unbothered by Shane's remark.

"Would a grenade do it?" Carol asked.

Daryl stared at her. Her hand was very visibly shaking and she wasn't trying to conceal it. Out of the diaper bag that she carried, Carol produced a grenade. Daryl swallowed. He hadn't known that Carol—his shotgun passenger and roommate—had been packing to the point that she casually carried grenades in Sophia's diaper bag.

"Where'd you get that?" Rick asked.

"I found it in your uniform," Carol said. "The first day you got to the rock quarry. I just—kept it. I thought—it might come in handy."

"It certainly will," Rick said.

As quickly as he could, he set the grenade to go off and tossed it next to the window. At the command to get down, Daryl somewhat wrapped his body around Carol, shielding both she and Sophia the best he could as they sought cover.

He was almost certain that his ears would never stop ringing and that his heart had actually exploded in his chest, but when he straightened up, he found that the grenade had done just what they'd hoped. It removed the window entirely.

Daryl found his axe without much effort. He pulled Carol by the arm and, when they reached the window, he'd jumped down first before dropping the axe and offering his arms up to give Carol some help as she climbed down with Sophia. As soon as they were on the ground, he picked up the axe again and followed behind Carol.

He offered her essentially the same advice he had the night that they'd found the CDC.

"Just run for the truck," Daryl said. "I'm behind'ja. They ain't gonna get'cha. Don't look back. Don't wait on nobody. Just run for the truck."

And she did.

Daryl followed after Carol just like he'd promised. He ran behind her and used the axe to make sure that no Walkers got close to her as she dodged them. They were mostly disoriented by the booming sound that the grenade had caused, so it wasn't as difficult as it could have been to get through them.

Before he knew it, they were safe in the truck and his heart was still threatening to explode out of his chest. He was still finding it impossible to believe that they'd escaped to safety.

"Andrea..." Carol lamented. It was the first word that she'd said since they'd gotten out of the building. She was safe in the truck now. Her daughter was safe. Now she could be sorry for the loss of her friend.

The relief that flooded Daryl's chest went along perfectly with the almost choked sound that Carol made when Andrea dropped out of the window with Dale and, holding onto his hand, rushed toward the RV.

"They made it," Carol breathed out.

Daryl didn't respond. He simply reached and pulled Carol and Sophia both toward him.

"Get down," he said.

He'd timed it just about right in his mind. He'd barely gotten the words out and wrapped himself around them, when the explosion rang out that swallowed up the building and everything surrounding it in an almost unimaginable ball of fire.


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: I'll admit that this is a bit of a transition chapter.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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They were all too shook up to risk stopping for even a moment. As soon as they left the CDC, they drove like they'd never stopped there. They crept along, in their original order, down the highway.

Daryl couldn't even begin to imagine where they might be going, and he could imagine that even the lead vehicle—with Rick driving Carol's old Cherokee—knew where the road was going to take them.

It didn't matter. Right now all that mattered was that they were alive.

They'd probably driven for an hour before Daryl felt like his hands were steady enough to search out a cigarette. He rolled down the window and lit the cigarette while he steered the car along behind the other vehicles. His move to some kind of action spurred Carol into movement next to him, and she turned around to pull out a duffle bag that had been wedged behind the seat since before they'd arrived at the CDC.

Daryl watched her as she burrowed around in the supplies she had there.

"You lost somethin'?" Daryl asked.

"I'm counting jars of baby food," Carol said. "Diapers."

"There's more in the back of the truck," Daryl said. "A lot more."

"But that's back there," Carol said.

"We'll stop 'fore too long," Daryl said. "Might drive through the night but—she got enough to get through 'til then? Or you want me to signal that we oughta stop to get some stuff?"

"There's enough for the night," Carol assured him. "And—I wouldn't want to cause anyone any trouble. I don't want to make them stop."

"Fuck 'em if they think it's trouble to stop to get the kid some food from the back of the truck," Daryl said. Carol didn't respond to him, but he knew that she heard him.

Sophia was settled for a moment. She'd accepted a stuffed toy that Carol had given her out of the seat of the truck—one that had been in there since they'd last gathered supplies—and she'd accepted a pacifier that came out of the bag of supplies that Carol always carried.

The little girl had screamed for the first twenty minutes after they'd left the CDC, but Daryl assumed her hysterics were to be expected. They had all been terrified. Everything they'd encountered had scared him to the point that he'd damn near pissed himself. It was only reasonable to expect that an infant, without any ability to reason or any way to know what was happening, would be hysterical. Her own fear aside after surviving two explosions, she would have been shook up by the far that she could, without a doubt, sense in the bodies of Carol and Daryl.

She'd finally calmed enough to accept some milk from Carol, though, and that had helped calm her to the point that the stuffed toy and the pacifier appeased her. Now she sat in her mother's lap with her treasures and watched Daryl while he drove.

He kept casting glances at her to see if she lost interest in him, but she seemed pretty content to watch him while he drove and smoked.

"Good thing about the end of the world is that we left almost all our worldly goods in an unlocked truck an' they ain't a damn thing missing," Daryl said. Carol hummed at him, but there really wasn't anything that she could say to contribute to what he'd said. He waited a moment, considering what he might say next, and then he finally spoke again. "You—uh—you packin' anymore artillery that I oughta know about?"

"What?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"A fuckin' grenade, Carol? Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you had it, but I didn't know you was carryin' around military grade ammunition in the kid's diaper bag."

"I thought it might come in handy," Carol said.

"It sure did that," Daryl said. "You didn't tell nobody about it, though."

"It just never came up," Carol offered.

"You got anything else like that?" Daryl asked. "Anything that oughta—come up?"

"If you're asking if I have any more grenades," Carol said, "that was the only one."

"You got anything else I oughta know about?" Daryl asked. He laughed to himself again. "I mean—you ain't thinkin' about blowin' me up in my sleep or nothin' 'cause I snore, are you?"

Carol finally laughed then. She realized he was teasing her. She smoothed down her daughter's curls and rearranged the baby. Sophia yawned, lost her pacifier, and accepted it again when Carol returned it to her mouth.

"If I were ever going to blow somebody up with a grenade," Carol said, "it wouldn't be you."

"So you have thought about it," Daryl teased. "Blowin' somebody up, I mean."

"I've thought of a lot of things," Carol said.

Her tone was so even that Daryl's stomach twisted. He heard exactly what she didn't say. He hummed at her.

"I get it," he said. He let silence fall between them. Beside him, Carol eventually yawned. One yawn was followed by another. "We prob'ly gonna drive on like this for a while. Through the night, more'n likely. It'll be easier to figure out what's next in the morning. You oughta get some sleep sometime if you can. Get Sophia some sleep, too."

"You want me to drive tomorrow?" Carol asked.

"Might," Daryl said. "Right now I'm good. But—you get some sleep. You don't gotta stay up with me. Would be better if one of us, at least, was fresh."

"You'll wake me up if you need me to take over?" Carol asked.

"Won't hesitate," Daryl promised her.

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"The CDC is gone," Shane said. "You heard Jenner—the government is shut down. There is no more government. What we knew before doesn't exist anymore. We're on our own."

"Washington might still be functioning," Rick said.

"While they're busy letting the CDC just blow up?" Shane asked.

"Shane's right," Daryl said. "CDC is gone. Washington's gone. This is some lawless fuckin' land we got here."

"We're not the only people left," Rick said.

"Right about now that's what the hell I'd be afraid of," Daryl admitted. "We don't know who's left. What we do know is that the police ain't comin' to lock nobody up. The government ain't intervenin'. We're on our own."

"We should look for people," Rick said. "Civilization. The higher populations are going to be in the cities. We've got a better chance of finding any kind of safe zones that the government might have established if we head for bigger places."

"You mean like Atlanta?" Glenn asked. "That's where we came from. It's gone. The government couldn't hold it against the Walkers. You can bet they couldn't hold anywhere else against the Walkers either. Columbia, Raleigh—all the big cities will probably look the same."

"We ought to look for somewhere far away from the cities," Shane said. "You said it yourself, Rick. The bigger populations are going to be in the big cities. Bigger populations mean higher body counts after catastrophes."

"And higher body counts these days is bad damn news for every one of us," Daryl said.

"I have to say that I agree with Shane on this one," Dale offered. "The cities don't seem to have much to offer except for Walkers."

"The rock quarry didn't have much to offer, either," Rick said. "If you haven't forgotten, we lost a lot of people there."

"Maybe we don't go to the city and we don't just camp in the middle of nowhere," Daryl said. "Maybe we strike some kind of happy medium."

"What kind of happy medium did you have in mind?" Rick asked.

"Something we can defend," Daryl said. "Something where we're protected by more than strings and bells, but we're not...you know. Not like in the CDC."

"Not trapped," Glenn said. "We're there on our own terms."

"That's a tall order," Rick said. "When we've got no idea where we are or where we're going exactly."

"Then we just keep looking," Dale said. "If we stick to the highway, we should be able to siphon enough gas to keep us going for a while."

"Maybe we'll know what we're looking for when we find it," Glenn said.

"That's fine," Daryl said, "but we can't live in the cars forever. We can keep moving. Keep travelling. But we've gotta stop. Everybody's gotta stretch their legs. We gotta look for supplies. Eat a hot meal every now and again. We're gonna need to bathe and breathe. Spend a little time stretchin' our legs. We ain't gonna be able to stand it if we just drive forever. People'll start going stir crazy before you know it."

"It's already starting to happen in the RV," Glenn offered.

"What's your suggestion, then?" Rick asked.

"Find a decent lookin' exit," Daryl said. "Take it. Find somewhere to hold up for a night. Get some supplies, stretch our legs, eat somethin' decent. Then we move on."

"That seems like it'll take a lot of time," Rick said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Where was you tryin' to get on a deadline?" Daryl asked. "This looks like the end of the line if you ask me."

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The parking lot of the gas station was relatively clear from cars. The store next to it advertised fireworks and novelties, and the restaurant was bound to at least offer them enough condiments to get them through whatever half-expired food they could scrape up.

It didn't offer much in the way of protection, but very little that they'd seen did.

At the very least, it didn't seem to be overrun with Walkers.

"Stay in the truck a minute," Daryl said. "Be right back."

He closed the door to the truck and secured Carol and Sophia inside. Shane, Rick, and T-Dog joined him as they started to look around. It was nearing dusk and the only thing that kept the abandoned gas station from feeling like something out of the movies was that there were no tumbleweeds to go rolling past it in the heart of Georgia.

Daryl walked around the few cars in the parking lot. In two of them, he found the remains of individuals who had opted out of continuing their lives in the chaos that was slowly surrounding them. The other cars were empty.

When T-Dog opened the door of the store, he released three Walkers into the parking lot that had apparently been waiting to get out for a while. Rick raised his gun to shoot them, but Daryl intercepted quickly and put them down with one of his arrows and Shane's assistance with a knife.

"We start shootin' out here we're gonna call up every Walker in Georgia," Daryl said. "An' then there goes the idea of sleepin' outta the car for the night. We gotta put 'em down, we fix it so we can get 'em with knives. Blades. Kill 'em quiet."

"The place looks pretty abandoned," Rick said.

"We know looks can be deceiving," Shane said.

"We oughta clear 'em outta the store first," Daryl said. "Then we can put everyone to clearin' the place and collecting supplies while we're clearin' out that little eatin' place there an' the little store over there. Get what we can. Then we'll figure out where everybody's sleepin' for the night."

"And tomorrow?" Rick asked.

"We'll pray there is one," T-Dog said. "Dale took a look from the roof of the RV. Looks clear as far as he can see. There's nothing moving out there except a couple of stray Walkers."

"That's why we don't use the guns," Daryl said. "We don't need them to find us here."

"And tomorrow we move on to do it all again," Rick said.

"That's the plan," Daryl said. "Unless you got a better one."

"We need somewhere safe. Stable. Long-term," Rick said.

"I don't disagree," Daryl said. "But the Pop'N Stop ain't it."

"So we just keep moving," T-Dog said. "Tonight the Pop'N Stop. Tomorrow who knows where?"

"How long can we keep this going?" Rick asked.

"Until we find what we're looking for," Shane said.

"Long as we gotta," Daryl said. "Hell—come too far now to just give up. You do what'cha wanna do. I'ma clear the fuckin' Pop'N Stop so we can have a decent night's sleep."


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Here's another chapter.**

 **What season is it? Does anybody know? Does it actually matter? I think I need for it to be getting cold for reasons, but I don't know if I've already established it's another season and I'm very, very bad at this. I apologize.**

 **I hope you enjoy the chapter, though! Please let me know what you think!**

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Carol steered the truck and Daryl somewhat reclined in his seat with the sleeping infant resting against his chest. He was tired of driving and he'd been more than happy to let Carol handle maneuvering the truck at the high speed of five to ten miles an hour. He knew that, ahead of them, many of the others seemed oddly reluctant to switch of driving with other people in their vehicles, but Carol made her way through the stalled traffic as expertly as Daryl did.

If Carol was driving, that meant Daryl was on duty with Sophia. There wasn't much room in the vehicle, so that meant that someone would be holding the baby at all times. It didn't really bother Daryl, though. Sophia had flattered him by taking in an entire jar of her baby food, when he offered it to her, with great satisfaction and, once he'd cleaned her up, she'd made him feel like he was the most comfortable thing in the world by accepting her pacifier and snuggling up to sleep against him like she lacked the ability, entirely, to keep her eyes open. Daryl had taken a nice nap right along with her, and he'd only recently woken. Sophia still slept soundly, though.

"Pretty day," Daryl commented, keeping his voice low.

Carol hummed at him.

"It's nice," she said. "After the rain."

They'd had probably three straight days of clouds and rain at intervals. It had done nothing for anyone except to raise the humidity level and invite mosquitos out from every single corner of the Earth.

"What's the gas look like?" Daryl asked.

"Half a tank," Carol said.

"We got a while," Daryl said.

"We'll probably all need to look for gas when it's time to stop for food," Carol said. "Find somewhere for the night."

"Yeah—but we made good progress today," Daryl said. "Steady progress."

"I just wish we knew where that progress was supposed to take us," Carol said. "We're going toward something and we don't even know what it is."

"Like Glenn says," Daryl said with a yawn, "maybe we'll know when we get there. You got somethin' in mind?"

Carol sighed. She pressed her elbow into the window and rested her head against her hand while she drove with the other through a somewhat straight and clear piece of road.

"No," she admitted. "Still—it would be nice to know there was a destination. Something safe."

"You missin' the CDC," Daryl said.

"Is that a question?" Carol asked.

"If you want it to be," Daryl said. "Otherwise I'm just sayin'."

"Don't you?" Carol asked.

Daryl swallowed. He knew that his true answer wouldn't be appropriate. He did miss the fact that they weren't able to stretch their legs as much as they might like and that they spent most of their time either folded up in a car seat or sharing a small space with too many bodies, but he wasn't too distraught over the loss of the CDC. A couple of weeks on the road hadn't been so bad and, really, he'd kept everything he would have really hated to lose when the building had blown up.

"We'll find somethin'," was all he offered. He left the rest of it up to Carol's interpretation.

She yawned and watched the road in front of her. Daryl doubted that she was really putting too much thought into any of it.

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Daryl held Sophia against Carol's chest while Carol arranged the wrap so that it was just the way she wanted it. When she'd wrapped and twisted the thing in the most complicated way that Daryl could imagine, she passed him the two ends and he very tightly knotted them as he'd been instructed to do.

"You good?" He asked as Carol adjusted the thing so that Sophia was secured and mostly covered.

"You're sure it's tight?" Carol asked.

"I couldn't tie it any tighter if I tried," Daryl said. "I ain't sure how I'ma work them knots out now."

"It feels fine," Carol said.

"She good?" Daryl asked.

"She's fine," Carol responded.

She took a bag from the back of the truck—one of the empty totes—and Daryl passed her the knife that he'd offered her to take the place of a rather flimsy one she'd used to protect herself for a while. One of the places where they'd stopped had been a hunting supplies store. It had been cleared out of bullets—which had seemed to make Rick think it was a completely useless location to loot—but it had sported a while variety of blades and bolts. Daryl had cleaned them out of nearly everything and he'd divided the spoils among the vehicles so that everyone had something silent with which to protect themselves.

Some people had insisted that they weren't able to use the weapons properly against the Walkers since they had to be so up-close and personal, but at least they had the option to be protected. If they chose to go entirely empty-handed, that choice was theirs.

Carol thanked Daryl for the knife, and she slipped it into the sheath on her belt.

"I'm looking for a few bigger sized clothes for Sophia, baby food, diapers, and...any requests?" Carol asked.

"Any batteries, cigarettes, or...alcohol," Daryl said.

Carol laughed to herself.

"Feeling the need to get drunk?" She asked.

"Just 'cause we got it, don't mean we gotta drink it all at once, but there ain't no need in leavin' it to waste. Water, too. Any meds. Canned food."

"Same old same," Carol said. "Most of that's on my list, but I don't even bother saying it anymore."

Daryl clapped her on the arm and squeezed the upper muscle there as a way of saying that he appreciated her.

Every time they stopped, they had pretty distinct roles. Daryl talked to Rick and Shane about what they were going to do. He checked to see if there was any kind of plan being made, and he helped make any plan that they could agree upon. When that was out the way, he siphoned enough gas off to get the tank as full as possible. When that was done, he joined in the search for supplies.

Carol went straight to work searching for supplies the moment that they stopped. She spent less time complaining about it, too, than some of the people who felt the job of searching out canned corn was beneath them and, as a result, their truck was the only one, so far, that hadn't had to go begging supplies from other vehicles at any of their stops. As a matter of fact, they'd supplied whole meals for the group more than once—though nobody was keeping track and, for the most part, Daryl noticed that nobody was thanking them.

Daryl walked toward the small group of men that was standing around and staring at jammed up cars and each other with equal interest. On his way over there, he squeezed Andrea's arm as he passed by her. She stood, quiet, staring blankly out at the cars around them, the bag she'd use to gather supplies clutched in her hand. She didn't say anything to Daryl, but she did offer him some semblance of a smile. He waved at Dale as the old man stood on top of the RV and surveyed the landscape with a pair of binoculars so that he could tell them what it looked like for a decent distance in any direction. Dale waved back at him before he called down to Andrea to be careful and returned to looking for anything they might need to know about.

"That snare's going to take a couple of days to clear," T-Dog said as Daryl reached the small cluster of men. "It's like Dale said, there's no way around it. Not if we're taking the RV. We'll have to move them."

"If we're going to be here for days," Daryl said, "then we're going to have to find somewhere to stay. We can sleep a night in the cars if we need to, but we'll need to stretch out some if it's going to take a while."

"We don't have days," Rick said.

Daryl walked around the group enough to look at the snare ahead of them. People had been trying to run from everything they feared when the outbreak had first happened. The radio had been sending out confusing signals. It had frantically suggested that everyone should make their way to safe zones, but it had been unclear about where those might be located. The frantic messages on the radio had eventually given over to the repetitive and static filled messages that the stations were off the air. One by one, every station went off the air and the annoying message that broadcasting for that station was done was all that answered back when they searched for some sign of life out there.

Now even that message was gone. There was nothing but radio silence when they tried to reach out beyond their little group.

People had panicked, though, in the earliest days. They'd all taken to the highway in search of the elusive safe places that Daryl knew, now, had never truly existed. Because nobody knew where they were going, they'd rushed in every possible direction. Those that were in the city knew that it wasn't safe there and they'd scrambled to get out of the cities. Those who were outside the cities imagined that the urban centers would hold the most promise for the future and they'd scrambled to get inside.

Most of them had hardly gotten anywhere because, in places like this, their rush and panic had ended in massive wrecks that had claimed any number of lives. Some people, as evidenced by numerous open car doors, had probably left their cars to try to walk since emergency vehicles weren't clearing the snares.

One by one, most of the people in the traffic snare had perished.

Some around them were trapped in their cars, turned into Walkers. Others, more than likely, had left the area on foot to meet Walkers in the woods.

Some, from the looks of the few bones scattered around and the bits of bird-picked decay still drying up on the road, hadn't made it too far beyond their vehicles before they'd been torn apart—perhaps by someone who had died in an accident. Perhaps by someone they'd been trying to help. Perhaps, even, by their own loved ones.

"T-Dog's right," Daryl said, surveying the snare in front of them. "It's gonna take at least a couple days. And that's if we all workin' an' not wastin' time."

Rick and Shane were both clearly irritated by Daryl's assessment of the traffic jam. They each had their little twitches with which they showed their extreme irritation. He considered both of them to be a bit theatrical, but he accepted that they were who they were, and he waited for them to twitch and grimace and growl so that they could return to the small bunch.

"We don't have days," Rick said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"On the fuckin' contrary," Daryl said. "We got weeks. Years. Whatever the hell is left of our lifetimes. We ain't doin' shit but movin' from one place to another. Waitin' to figure out where we gonna plant our asses. It's a real hard thing to sell sayin' that'cha goin' nowhere too slow."

"We have all the time we need to move cars," Shane said, "but we can't sleep out here."

"There's enough room in the RV for a night or two," Glenn said. "We can pile in."

"If we're all sleepin' in the RV," Daryl said. "I'd just as soon sleep in the truck. We fit in there as good as we fit in the RV. What we oughta do, though, is get set movin' them cars. Make good use of the daylight. Search what we can. Siphon gas."

"We need to find water," Shane said. "We're almost out everywhere."

"Find water," Daryl said. "Find everything. Look around—it's a fuckin' goldmine of stuff out here."

"It's a graveyard," Andrea said. She was searching through the trunk of a car near them. "The whole world's a graveyard now. It feels wrong that we're—just scavenging. Taking their stuff like vultures."

"The vultures took what was left of 'em anyway," Daryl said. "From the looks of it."

Andrea eyed him. He frowned to himself. She was still a bit touchy about things. The way they'd been living hadn't really allowed her to deal with much that she was feeling, either. Daryl wasn't sure that she ever had any privacy. Dale watched her like a hawk. She didn't have much opportunity, either, to talk to anyone that wasn't Dale because of his protectiveness. And because it upset Dale if she said anything that he didn't like—the graveyard comment, for instance, would practically earn her a forty-five minute tongue lashing on being too negative—she'd almost taken a vow of silence.

Daryl decided to be a bit more delicate if he could. Maybe, just for a little while, the blonde needed that more than she needed anything else.

He walked over and squeezed the top of her arm again. He wasn't really sure how else to offer her any sort of comfort. It wasn't exactly his forte.

"Listen—they don't care. They gone. But—I promise you that, if they was here? And if they was worth the salt in their bodies? They woulda wanted us to have a bottle of water an' some Vienna sausages to keep going."

Andrea frowned and nodded her head as she dropped a flashlight into her bag.

"I haven't found any water," she said. "And—Dale hasn't said anything, but we've been out of water for over a day. I'll be fine but—I don't want him going without too long. I gave him the last bottle to drink before I told him it was the last one."

Daryl nodded his head.

"We'll find water here," he said. "All these cars? Go look in the back of the truck. We still got a case back there. Drink a bottle—but slow in case you gone too long. Take a bottle up to Dale. Make sure anybody else that's thirsty gets a bottle."

Andrea nodded.

"Thanks," she said.

Daryl smiled to himself.

He'd only thought, what seemed like moments before, that nobody thanked them. Maybe he needed to simply reset his parameters for determining who made up "nobody" in his mind.

"Don't mention it," he said. "Stay close to Carol. Stay away from the outsides of the snare."

Andrea nodded her head. She walked off, carrying her bag with the few prizes she'd found, and wandered back in the direction of the truck. It was the same direction of the RV and, just beyond that, it was where Carol was searching other vehicles for goods.

Daryl made his way, in the opposite direction, through the snare and found T-Dog, near the front of it, already working on jimmying the lock on a car door and cussing about the fact that some asshole—abandoning his car in this shit when the world was going to hell—had locked the door and taken the keys with him.

Daryl laughed to himself and went to try the handle on another car they'd need to move. He turned to brag to T-Dog when the door easily swung open, but he didn't get the chance to say much because Dale called out to them from the top of the RV—his voice escaped in an odd sort of hoarse whisper that carried, but not as far as a shout wood—that they needed to be on guard.

Something was coming. Daryl couldn't hear what he said.

He scanned the area, stepping into a bit of a clearing in the pile of cars, and then he saw what was coming.

He didn't know the proper name for a large group of Walkers, but he knew that—no matter what he called them—the sight of them made his blood run cold.

A herd. That was what it felt right to call them. A herd.

And they were coming faster than he might have believed they could.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **Remember that I'm drastically changing some of the canon events in this story.**

 **I hope that you enjoy. Please let me know what you think.**

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Daryl hadn't seen this many Walkers gathered together since Atlanta. Even the group that had descended on the rock quarry hadn't consisted of so many bodies. They swept through the traffic snare with relative ease given the fact that Walkers weren't very agile and didn't seem to have an extremely reliable sense of sight. They moved quickly, too. Daryl had learned that Walkers were slow moving, as long as they were simply ambling about with nothing that they seemed to be set on doing, but they could speed up significantly when they were doing something.

In his gut, of course, it felt strange to think of the dead as having some sort of purpose.

It certainly seemed like these Walkers, though, were on some sort of mission.

Whether they were simply fixated on the Walkers in front of them, or whether they could actually have some job to do, they were all proceeding forward like they had very little interest in stopping. Daryl was almost certain that if they could remain quiet and out of sight—and smell—of the Walkers, the creatures would actually pass right by them at a fairly quick pace.

It was impossible to see what was happening elsewhere in the camp, though, and it was impossible to know if everyone else was following through with the idea of keeping calm and quiet. The herd was passing through from the direction where Daryl had left Carol and Sophia—and where he'd sent Andrea only moments before— so he could only hope that they were faring well. There was little he could do to help them, though, with thirty Walkers between them.

Daryl and T-Dog might have gotten through the whole thing without a problem, but T-Dog—startled by the Walkers approaching—had fallen over some debris in the road. The fall itself wouldn't have been too tragic, but he'd landed just right to catch his arm on the open car door behind him. The older model sported metal supports around the window that weren't as padded and protected as newer model cars and that, compounded with the force with which he fell, meant that Daryl wasn't sure if he hadn't managed to cut his arm off with the rusty metal.

He yelled out in pain—something he probably couldn't avoid with the surprise of it all—but he shut up quickly when Daryl pushed him to the ground and shoved the Walker they'd recently been messing with on top of him. The Walker in question had once been the driver of the offending vehicle, so it was only fitting that he save T-Dog's life now that his car had very nearly cost him that very life.

The Walkers, Daryl knew, couldn't smell them through the scent of other Walkers. They'd walk right past them. They'd learned that well in Atlanta.

Daryl could take cover in a nearby truck, but closing the door would draw the attention of the Walkers. Instead, he pulled the driver lose from that vehicle—put down already—and took a spot on the ground beside T-Dog to wait, under their proverbial cover, until the herd had passed.

It seemed like they were there for hours—holding their breath for the stench and the stress—but Daryl knew that it had hardly been enough minutes to bother counting.

He stayed on the ground beside T-Dog despite the fact that he was pretty sure that the herd had passed. He wanted to be sure they were really gone. Any amount of movement would draw them back and they would have a harder time finding cover.

He stayed on the ground despite the fact he could hear that some of his group members weren't doing a great job of being mindful how much noise they made. Someone was yelling. Multiple people were yelling.

Daryl and T-Dog were farthest away from the rest of their group members and closest to where the herd was, now that it had passed them all by entirely. Beside him, T-Dog breathed heavy for pain, fear, and blood loss.

People were yelling.

But Daryl stayed still to be sure that the herd had passed. He only pushed the rotted Walker off of him to get his breath and got to his feet—almost in one sudden movement—when he heard Sophia screaming. Her screaming started suddenly, and it filled the air. Daryl felt like he'd heard it in his mind before now, but it was clear now, and it was ringing out.

He'd left her and Carol near the part of the highway where the herd had entered. He'd left Carol with a knife, but a knife was little help in a large herd of Walkers—especially if she hadn't been able to reach cover.

Daryl left T-Dog to handle his own issues for the moment and he darted back toward the cluster of his group members. There was a great deal of scrambling about and confusion. Everyone was talking—most of them were yelling—but Daryl got the impression that very few of them were exactly sure who they were yelling at and who was listening to them.

He broke through the crowd and got to Carol first.

He immediately knew that she was fine. Sophia was fine. There was blood splattered on Carol, but he could tell by her demeanor that it was Walker blood and nothing more. Sophia was safe—almost entirely covered—in her wrap. Daryl touched the back of the little girl's head as he approached.

"Scared?" He asked.

"We were in a car," Carol said. "I took cover. As soon as we saw them."

"Good," Daryl said. "Good—that's what'cha shoulda done. Done good."

"I thought it was clear, but when I got out there was a Walker. I killed him, but he scared me. Scared her, I guess."

"Can you shut that kid up?!" Shane barked.

He came running at Carol, clearly overcome with something he was dealing with, and Daryl stepped between them. He ran at Shane with the same amount of determination that Shane used to run toward Carol.

"She's a fuckin' baby!" Daryl barked. "She's scared!"

"And she's gonna call every Walker in Georgia down on us!" Shane barked back.

"She's no damn louder than your mouth!" Daryl responded. "Than everybody else that's yellin'! What the hell is everybody yellin' for?!"

Daryl's response seemed to surprise Shane enough to calm him down. He actually backed up a few steps and Daryl felt his own body react with a flood of calm.

He looked around. It was clear that he didn't know, either, why everyone was yelling. The direction he came from had him somewhat away from the real commotion.

The real commotion, when they narrowed it down and focused, was coming from the guardrail. Lori was half leaning over it and screaming into the woods.

And then Daryl saw that Rick was running some distance away and just disappearing into the cover of the wooded area beyond the highway. He was chasing something, and he was running as fast as Daryl imagined him capable of running.

Shane must have realized, at the same moment that Daryl did, that something wasn't right. They both ran toward the guardrail and Shane practically shook Lori to get her to calm down enough to blabber out that the reason Rick was running into the woods was because, during all of the chaos, Carl had managed to get chased by some of the Walkers. Rick was going after him now to try to save him from the creatures.

Shane went over the guardrail and Daryl followed behind him.

Rick was one of the diehard gun fanatics of the group.

Though Daryl didn't mind guns, and he certainly thought they had their place, he knew that they were about the dumbest weapon that they could carry at this point. A bullet could only be used once, which made it really of very little use. They had to constantly look for ammunition—which was bound to run out—and they had to carry a great deal to simply be able to use the weapons for a decent amount of time. Blades and arrows had more than one use. Guns, also, were loud. That made them undesirable in situations like these where noise could end up drawing unwanted attention and causing a great deal more trouble than that which was immediately evident.

The herd of Walkers had come from somewhere, and it would be foolish to believe that they were the only ones around. The woods could be absolutely teeming with Walkers. It would stand to reason, after all, that the people who had left their cars, and who failed to make it to some kind of safety somewhere, had probably fallen very close to the traffic snare. It was very likely that all of them—or at least the ones that hadn't moved on in herds like the one they'd just witnessed—were wandering aimlessly around the woods and looking for some kind of purpose.

Rick insisted on carrying a gun. His wife, Lori was one of the few people who argued that a knife would be of little use to her because she wasn't sure she felt confident getting close to the snapping and snarling Walkers. She seemed to believe that she'd always have someone there to protect her.

She hadn't been wrong, because Shane and Rick were always practically falling over each other to protect her, but it didn't mean that there wouldn't come a time when she'd wish that she'd been able to do something for herself.

A knife might have helped her, after all. A knife certainly would have helped Rick.

When they caught up to him, Rick was doing his best to fight off two Walkers with a rock and his good intentions. The gun hanging on his hip was useless to him if he didn't want to call more Walkers to come in their direction. Shane was armed with a gun and a knife while Daryl was carrying only a knife.

Daryl wished for his crossbow, but in the scramble of things he'd left it on the highway. He pulled his knife, instead, and rushed forward with Shane. Without speaking, they understood what they needed to do. Each of them grabbed a Walker and, pushing it to the ground with the force of their body weight and momentum, they both put down the creature underneath them almost immediately.

Rick barely breathed out a thanks to either of them before stumbling off. Before they could get to their feet, he reappeared with Carl—teary eyed and clutching his father around the waist.

Daryl brushed himself off, but there wasn't too much worry about whether he was clean or not. He was smeared with T-Dog's blood, Walker mess of indescribable origin, mud, and just about anything else that he could think of that was disgusting.

"This is why the hell I said a blade in the hand of everyone old enough to hold it," Daryl said.

He felt like that was all he had to say. He didn't care to say anything else, really. He simply turned and started back toward the highway.

"We can't stay here," Rick called out to him.

"We got no choice," Daryl said. "Not 'til the road is clear."

"We can go back," Rick said. "Look for another way around."

"Or we can go forward," Daryl said. "Makes more sense to me."

"We know what's in front of us," Rick said. "That herd."

Daryl stopped walking. He turned back and looked at Rick. He was standing beside Shane with his arm around his son. Carl seemed to have calmed now, though he was still clutching his father's waist.

"There's a herd behind us, too," Daryl said. "Or you done forgot what Atlanta looked like? They everywhere now, Rick. Forward or backward—the Walkers are there. I'ma see what we can do about T. He's hurt. See who else needs somethin' up there. Pass out the knives that everybody shoulda took before. And then we gonna get back to work clearin' the damn snare."

"We'll never get it cleared before dark," Rick said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"We weren't gonna get it cleared before dark before the herd," Daryl said.

"If we're not going to turn back, we've got to find somewhere to stay the night," Rick said.

Daryl hummed and shrugged his shoulders.

"Sounds like everybody knows what they doin', then. I'm goin' to clear the snare. You goin' to find somewhere to stay the night. You comin' back to the highway first? Get a knife? Or you want me just to tell Lori you found your boy?"


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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The division of labor was fairly simple.

There were several things that needed to be done and more than enough bodies to handle the jobs. Rick and Shane went in search of some sort of shelter that they could use for at least a night. They took Carl with them to keep him from being underfoot and, mostly, because he had begged to tag along with them. Glenn had gone with them, as well, to help make sure that they didn't get in too much trouble since they would be away from the safety that the openness of the highway offered them.

T-Dog's arm was wrapped and he was set to keep watch with Dale in case more Walkers got too close to where they were working. On the roof of the RV, he would be easier to protect than anywhere on the ground.

Daryl accepted Andrea's assistance in moving cars out of the way since she seemed anxious to put just a little distance between herself and Dale. When the Walkers had struck before, Andrea had gotten trapped in a bad situation with one of the Walkers. She'd pulled through, unscathed, but it had scared her and Dale both. Dale dealt with his concern by lecturing, and Andrea would rather push cars than listen to a lecture raining down on her from atop the RV.

Carol and Lori were in charge of searching cars for absolutely anything that might prove useful—and Daryl was praying that they hit some kind of drug dealer's jackpot soon because he feared the antibiotics that his brother had left in his bike's saddle bag would only go so far and might not be enough to keep the gruesome cut on T-Dog's arm from growing disgustingly infected.

They were at the mercy of chance, though, because there was very little that they could really do except hope that pieces of their lives fell together at this point. They could work toward goals, but there was little to guarantee that they would reach them.

One goal they were slowly reaching, however, was clearing the highway.

"Let it go...let it go...now!" Daryl called out to Andrea as the car they were pushing started to pick up speed as it rolled through the area that they'd already cleared. Andrea was bad about holding on too long and it had already caused her to bust her ass at least twice while Daryl had been looking. She pulled back this time and let the car go so that it could run at whatever speed it wanted until it crashed into another car they'd already moved.

It was slow going, but they were making clear progress. Another day of steady work and they could have enough room to work the RV through the snare. If they were able to get some of the others involved, they may even get it done sooner.

Andrea looked wildly pleased whenever another car was rolled out of the way. Daryl could tell that the manual labor invigorated her.

It also dehydrated her and took a toll on her body.

"That's good," Daryl said. "Real good. Let's take a break. Get some water in you."

"I'm fine," Andrea said.

"You 'bout passed out earlier," Daryl said. "I saw you get that look on your face. Prob'ly saw sparkles an' shit."

He pulled a bottle of water from the pile they were keeping on the back of one of the trucks they wouldn't move for a while and offered it in her direction before he took a bottle for himself. She didn't argue. She simply took the water, cracked open the lid, and drank it far too fast.

"Easy," Daryl said. "Gonna make yourself sick. You go another fuckin' two days without drinkin' water again an' I'ma personally kick your ass."

"You'll have to get in line," Andrea said. "What was I supposed to do, Daryl? Dale's older. He needs it—and Glenn's practically a kid. We were almost out and every time we stop to look for stuff—let's just say that some people are favored over others."

Daryl's stomach twisted. He knew exactly what she was talking about. He and Carol stayed somewhat outside of the group because it irritated him how grabby some hands could be when they came upon something useful. Rick was going to make sure his family didn't go without—and Daryl respected that—but Shane was also going to make sure that Rick's family didn't go without. Both of them had slightly overpowering personalities and, put next to some, it meant that others just sort of slipped between the cracks.

"Not no more," Daryl offered. "You need food? Water? Speak up. It don't do nobody no good if you die like some kinda martyr to try to keep Dale or Glenn goin' longer. Rather we didn't lose nobody to somethin' like thirst or starvation."

"Thanks," Andrea said with a laugh. "I feel the love."

She drank down the rest of her water and Daryl offered her another bottle without hesitation. He knew from speaking to Glenn that it might have been longer than Andrea reported since he'd seen her take a drink. She was good at rationing their food and water, and she was good at looking after everyone in the RV, but it seemed that she was also good at distracting them from what she was and wasn't doing for herself.

"I don't want to drink it all," Andrea said. "We need this in the RV. Dale. Glenn. I think T's starting to get a fever."

Daryl held the bottle she was doing her best to refuse in his hand.

Carol could find a needle in a haystack when it came to searching cars. She was careful, she was thorough, and she'd learned to squirrel away what she needed to take care of herself and her daughter because she knew what it was like to walk through the world without another soul looking out for her. Daryl knew they had a case of water in the back of the truck and another, broken down with the bottles stuck around the cab of the truck—and that didn't even include their share of what she'd found today.

"Lemme ask you somethin'," Daryl said. "And if you answer it—I'll give you enough water to get everybody to the next stop without thirstin' to death."

Andrea frowned at him.

"I'm not sure I want to answer a question with stakes that high," Andrea said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I'ma ask it anyway," Daryl said.

"OK, then," Andrea said.

"You still wanna die? Like you did back at the CDC? Like you got—got Dale scared you do? If I turn my back on you, you gonna—opt out like some of these assholes we been clearin' out the cars that blowed they damn brains out?"

"That's more than one question," Andrea said.

"I reckon you know what the hell I'm askin'," Daryl responded.

"Are you asking if I'm going to commit suicide?" Andrea asked.

"I'm askin' if you wanna live," Daryl said.

Andrea sighed.

"I don't know if I want to live or—if it's just a habit," Andrea said.

"Stupid fuckin' answer," Daryl said. He put the bottle of water in her hand. "Drink this."

Andrea laughed to herself. She screwed the lid off the water bottle.

"I would like to think there's something more out there," Andrea said. "A future? Something worth living for. I guess—I have to keep living if I'm going to find out if there is."

"What is it you want outta that future?" Daryl asked. He lit a cigarette for himself.

"The same things anybody wants, I guess," Andrea said. "Someone to care for. Someone who cares for me. Someone who—won't leave. A family of my own." She raised her eyebrows at Daryl. "Why, what do you want?"

"Like you said," Daryl said. "Same damn thing I guess everybody wants. Drink that water. Then I'll walk with ya into the woods over there to take a piss 'cause I know you gonna have to. I'ma go check on everybody. Don't go near the woods 'til I get back."

Daryl quickly searched out Carol and Lori. The two women were making a massive pile of supplies—sorting it into categories as they went—and he couldn't fault them at all for their efforts. It was clear to him that Carol, with Sophia strapped to her back now, was working a bit more sincerely than Lori, but Lori was pulling her weight. From the looks of what they were finding, too, the delay might be worth it simply for all that they'd be able to garner from the cars. The only concern, really, that Daryl had at this point was whether or not the whole thing would prove too bad for T-Dog.

Daryl circled around to the back of the RV and started up the ladder. As he came over the top, he could see T-Dog sitting in Dale's lawn chair while Dale sat on a cooler.

"How's everything up here?" Daryl asked.

Dale nodded his head in T-Dog's direction, but he didn't say anything. He didn't have to. It was evident that T-Dog wasn't feeling well.

"He swallow down a couple of them pills?"

"Two," Dale said. "I didn't want to overdo it."

"Give it time," Daryl said. "T—how you feelin' man?"

"Some bullshit," T-Dog offered, but he never added anything to it, and he never explained. Daryl didn't ask for an explanation, either. T-Dog likely had a fever. At the very least, he'd washed down some pills with some whiskey for the pain and a little water for the dehydration. It didn't matter if he muttered pure nonsense for the next longest.

"What's it lookin' like out there?" Daryl asked.

"No Walkers as far as I can see," Dale said. "Nothing else for that matter."

"No sign of Rick an' them?" Daryl asked.

"I'm going to be honest," Dale said, "I don't think there's anything nearby. I'm not seeing a store. A church. Nothing. No signs of civilization for miles. I think if we don't find something, we're going to have to backtrack for the night at least."

"I hate leavin' everything here on the highway," Daryl said. "If it comes down to it, y'all can take somethin' an' go back up the road to that last exit. Find somethin' for the night. I'll stay here in the RV an' make sure we don't wake up tomorrow with next to nothin' left."

"We haven't seen any other people," Dale said.

"The night we left everything in the open would be the night we seen 'em," Daryl offered.

The sound of the gunshot rang through the air around them. It clearly came from the wooded area—an expanse that they couldn't see beyond from the top of the RV—but there was little indication about where it came from exactly.

As soon as it rang out, there was a scramble of bodies on the ground below. Andrea, Lori, and Carol all three ran to the RV to yell up at Daryl, Dale, and T-Dog as though they would have any idea from where the sound issued. Daryl walked to the edge of the RV and peered down at the three faces looking up at him.

Sophia, too, had decided that she should cry about the noise—very likely bothered because it startled Carol. Carol was doing her best to soothe her daughter with one hand reached over her shoudler while she blocked the sun with other to peer up at Daryl.

"We don't know what it was," Daryl said. "Can't see anything. But—it prob'ly weren't nothin'. Takin' down a Walker or somethin'."

"Rick wouldn't fire a gun to take down a Walker," Lori called up. "Not after that herd. Not after what happened."

Daryl understood that she was uneasy. He was uneasy too, but there was nothing he could do about it. The best he could do, honestly, was try to keep everyone calm and collected.

"Coulda got too close. Last minute thing. Maybe it weren't a Walker. Maybe it weren't even our people. Some other people in the area, I bet," Daryl offered.

"Should we be worried about other people?" Andrea asked.

"Just stay close together," Daryl said. "All of ya."

"Daryl—I've got to pee," Andrea offered. "I can go in the RV."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I'll walk all of you to the woods," he said. "Just to the edge. We'll stay together. Rick an' them'll be back 'fore you know it. You can bet on it."

Daryl didn't say anything else to Dale. He gave him a look that he hoped communicated a good deal, and he got a nod from the old man that said he understood that Daryl's current goal was simply to keep everyone calm for a little while until they had some idea of what was going on and how they should proceed.

Daryl did walk the women to the edge of the woods, just as he said he would, and he waited with his back to them as they all did their business and chattered about their worries and concerns. He didn't try to soothe them too much because he didn't want to lie to any of them and he knew no more about the situation than they did.

When they were done, he brought all three of them down to the area where he was moving cars and set Lori and Carol to clearing out cars at that end of the traffic snare while he and Andrea continued to push vehicles out of the way that they were able to free.

The work helped to keep everyone distracted from their concern over the earlier gunshot, and no other gunshots echoed out to follow it. The work helped to keep them from noticing that the sun was sinking lower in the sky and they still didn't have anywhere better to spend the night than the RV and, on top of that, their reconnaissance team had yet to return.

Nothing happened at all to disturb them from their labors until Daryl heard the yelling—and he wasn't really sure if he heard Glenn or Dale first.

All of them rushed back toward the RV, and they reached it in time to hear Dale telling them that Glenn was coming, alone, and to see Glenn clearing the guardrail.

"We gotta go!" He called out. "Everybody else is already gone. I just came back to tell you where to go! There was a hunter and...then there was a woman on a horse! I can't explain! We gotta go to a farm a few miles from here. We can get there from the last mile marker. Carl's been shot! They're going to get help!"

The first thing that Daryl did was grab Lori to make sure that the woman didn't hit the ground from the impact of the news. The second thing he did was start to organize it so that Glenn, Lori, and T-Dog could leave as soon as possible.


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: Here's another chapter! I'm glad to see that you're all excited we're at the farm. For those of you reading "Daddy," I'm enjoying your excitement on both stories concerning the farm. LOL**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl drove the truck with Carol and Sophia beside him. Most of their supplies had fit in the back of it. The rest of the supplies had fit in the back of the SUV that they found already somewhat packed and still easy to get running. They decided to take it, preferring it over their other vehicles for storage capacity. Anything that had been leftover, and that they didn't want to leave behind on the highway, Dale packed into the RV before the small caravan of three vehicles followed Glenn's somewhat spotty directions to the farmhouse.

The place was decently remote, so it wasn't too difficult to find the house despite the lacking directions that they'd been given. Daryl assumed that it was generators that were keeping the lights on inside the farmhouse. The lights, in contrast with such a dark word around them, made the structure stand out like a beacon calling them all home.

As soon as they pulled up to the house after creeping their way down the long driveway, Daryl was sure they were in the right place. The Cherokee—which Glenn had taken with Lori and T-Dog—was parked there. In addition, Daryl barely had time to open the truck door to explore their new location before a young woman stepped out onto the porch with Glenn practically on her heels.

"Did you lock the gate on your way in?" She demanded.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Nice to meet you, too," he called back at her.

"Did you lock the gate on your way in?" She repeated.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "We locked it. We ain't stupid."

"You can park your cars in that field over there," she said, gesturing off in the direction of some sprawling land. "There are wells out there for the cattle. They have hand pumps so you'll have plenty of water. You can use the one closest to the house. Don't use the one we've got blocked off. You can set up whatever you've got in the field. It's getting cold at night, so it's fine to build a fire, but you better watch it. We don't want it spreading."

"Got it," Daryl offered. Then he walked behind the truck to tell his comrades—just in case they didn't get the memo—what the woman had said. Andrea was driving the SUV and had her window down. She'd caught everything, but Dale needed to be filled in. As soon as Daryl had spread the word, they started moving vehicles—even going back to move the Cherokee.

They decided to forego the fire for the time being, but they went ahead and set up their camp. Dale would stay in his RV, and Andrea was likely to stay with him, but many of them would like the privacy of having a tent. They unpacked their tents and, under Andrea's urging, they unpacked tents for those who were, apparently, in the house. Daryl didn't know if Rick and company would need the tents, but they would be expecting to have them set up if they did need them, so they might as well avoid conflict and go ahead with putting them up.

Daryl saw Carol when she settled, some fair distance away from the other tents, in the field to start setting up her own tent. He finished helping Andrea with the tent that she was erecting, and then Daryl took his own tent and trotted off in the direction of where Carol had gone.

"What the hell you doin' way out here?" He asked.

"Sophia," Carol said.

Daryl dropped his own tent and helped her with hers since she was clearly struggling a little with the framing rods.

"She asked to be out here?" Daryl asked with a laugh. Sophia, happily facing outward as she rode strapped to her mother's chest for the time being, laughed as well. He pretended that she understood his joke, though he was sure she was just amused by the movements of her mother as she struggled with the tent poles. "You like that, huh?" He teased the baby as she brushed near his face while he worked.

"She cries," Carol said.

"It's a thing babies do sometimes," Daryl said. "Or so I been told. She don't do it too much. All things considered."

"I don't want her keeping the whole group awake," Carol said. "Or worse—waking up—whoever owns this place. This place looks pretty safe."

"I'd say it looks damn safe," Daryl said. "Good fences an' they ain't a Walker in sight. I ain't seen one since we left the highway. They don't even come lookin' at the lights in the windows."

"Exactly," Carol said. "This is the kind of place that we could survive for a little while."

"We ain't been inside to find out what's goin' on," Daryl said. "But Rick an' Lori ain't runnin' around outta their minds, so I'ma guess that Carl ain't dead. That means they got some kinda help here. If he's been shot...if it's all really true, then I'ma guess we might be here for a little while."

"But if Sophia drives everyone crazy," Carol said, "we might be asked to leave. If I'm the reason that we're asked to leave a safe place, Daryl? If Sophia's the reason that we're asked to leave? Nobody is ever going to let us forget that."

"If whoever lives here asks us to leave 'cause a baby was cryin'? Then who the hell wants to be around 'em anyway?" Daryl said. "But fine. If you think it's better out here, I'll set my tent up out here, too."

"You don't have to do that," Carol said. "You don't have to sleep all the way out here."

"Woulda done it anyway," Daryl said. "Hate bein' crowded up under everybody. Damn near can't breathe. Might as well cram into the RV if you gonna do all that."

Carol smiled at him.

"You want me to—help you get your tent up?" She asked.

"Only decent thing to do," Daryl said. "Long as I just about got yours up."

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Carol walked behind Daryl as they mounted the porch steps and made their way into the farmhouse. Everyone else was already inside.

It was a lovely farmhouse. It felt warm and cozy and, if it hadn't been for the fear of how people, who were absolute strangers to them, might react to their presence, Carol would have found the place to be one of those houses that felt immediately like home.

Sophia rode on her chest, wrapped up so that she could see the world around her for a bit, and she kicked her legs and bounced a little every now and again. She had a strong interest in Daryl, so she'd grabbed for him once or twice while they'd been setting up the tents and had been thrilled when he'd taken the time to make growling noises at her—which apparently she found endearing—and to grab back at the fingers that she stretched out toward him. Now that she was directly behind him, she seemed content to ride with Carol, wherever they might be going, as long as she could watch the movements of her beloved new companion.

Daryl stepped through the door first and held it open for Carol to step inside. As soon as she was through the door, he let it close and stepped in front of her again like he was going to lead the way to whatever they might encounter in the farmhouse.

"Come on in," a woman said, appearing from just at the end of the hallway they were entering. Carol assumed she must be the woman who owned the house. "We've got hot water if you want a shower, but there's a bit of a line at the moment. I'm afraid we don't have too much room and—we're pretty busy so there won't be much entertaining."

"We'll take the shower," Daryl said. "We don't need nothin' else."

"I'm Patricia," the woman offered. She put a hand out in Daryl's direction and he held his hands up to show them to her.

"Dirty," he said. "I mean—if you still wanna...but I thought you oughta know."

"There's a bathroom just through there," Patricia said. "You could wash your hands if you want. While you're waiting for a shower. You're—Daryl?"

Daryl cocked an eyebrow at the woman.

"Your friends told me you were outside," Patricia said. "They said you were the one who had the antibiotics—the ones that I gave your friend?"

"Belonged to my brother," Daryl said. "But I guess he's dead. Gone, anyway. So I don't guess he cares."

"They'll go a long way toward helping your friend," Patricia said. "Maybe even saving his life. Antibiotics is something that we haven't come across too easily. The medical facilities tend to be the ones that are the most—overrun."

"Yeah," Daryl said.

"They'll help the boy, too," Patricia said.

"If there's any leftover," Daryl said. "I give 'em to T."

Patricia looked at Carol, but Carol didn't say anything to her while she still considered her engaged in conversation with Daryl.

He didn't let the conversation continue, though, because he cleared his throat and showed his hands to Patricia again.

"I'ma go to the bathroom," he said, gesturing toward the little bathroom that she'd indicated. He looked at Carol like she might not have been able to hear him, even though she was close enough to him that Sophia had been pushing her feet against his back while they'd been standing there. "I'ma—"

"Go to the bathroom," Carol supplied.

"Yeah," Daryl said. He nodded his head and did exactly what he said he would do, so Carol accepted that it was here turn to get to know at least one of the residents of the house. Far beyond the hallway, though, she could hear sounds throughout the house that let her know that they weren't alone. Everyone they'd brought was there—and there were others who lived in the house. It sounded like people were engaged in a great number of activities and conversations on both floors.

"Carol," Carol said. "And—I'll admit that my hands aren't too clean either. But I'd be happy to shake your hand if you want to take the chance."

The woman smiled warmly at her. She extended her hand and Carol took it and shook it.

"We've got plenty of soap," the woman offered. "And—with the farm life, you learn not to be too afraid of a little dirt. Your baby is beautiful."

"Thank you," Carol said.

"I almost didn't expect to see babies again," Patricia said. Carol smiled at her. Maybe babies were a rarity in this world. It certainly felt like people, in general, were scarce these days—though the woman standing in front of her certainly opened Carol's eyes to the possibility that there were more people out there than they realized. "How old is she?"

"I don't know," Carol admitted. "She was born just as all this started. I lost track of time."

"We have too," Patricia admitted. "Seven or eight months at least."

Carol smiled.

"That sounds about right," she agreed.

"What's her name?"

"Sophia," Carol said.

"Does she eat solid food?" Patricia asked.

"She loves food," Carol said. "She's liked everything I've found to give her."

"We've got some food in the kitchen," Patricia said. "Come on—let's see if we can't find something she'll eat."

Carol thanked the woman and followed her through the house, sure that Daryl would find them when he emerged from the bathroom and began an exploration of the space. Carol looked around, but at first glance she could only find Dale from their group as she passed through the living room—and he was sitting in a chair with his hat on his knee, seemingly staring off at nothing.

"Are you OK, Dale?" Carol asked.

He looked at her like he didn't expect her to be there and then he gave her a signature smile to say he was pleased with her acknowledgement of his presence. He nodded his head, his quiet contemplation broken.

"Andrea's showering," he said, as though that answered Carol's question. Maybe it did, of course. Maybe he was OK because Andrea was showering—and Dale had turned most of his attention, these days, to caring for Andrea as though she were somewhere around Sophia's age.

Andrea seemed to hate it, for the most part, but she didn't have the heart to tell Dale that, so she tolerated his smothering because he seemed to get something from caring for her.

"We're going to find Sophia some food," Carol said. "Are you hungry?"

"In a minute," Dale offered. "Have you seen Lori?"

Carol shook her head. Dale hummed.

"She's in the room with her family," Patricia said, waving Carol onward toward the kitchen. "Hershel's in there. He's doing what he can to save the boy. They're talking about what can be done."

"Is he going to be OK?" Carol asked.

Patricia gestured toward the table and Carol worked Sophia out of her wrap and rested the little girl on her knees. Patricia came over, bringing a bowl of something and a spoon. She put it in front of Carol.

"Applesauce," she said. "We made it to use up some of the apples before they go bad. They're coming off the trees faster than we can eat them." Carol thanked her and tasted the applesauce. It tasted fine. It was a little tart, but Carol assumed that was simply from the type of apples that they'd used. She offered some to Sophia and her daughter accepted it. Her immediate open mouth after she swallowed was a clear sign that she wasn't going to turn her nose up at what was being offered. "I sewed up your friend's arm. He's going to be fine. Especially thanks to those antibiotics. But—Hershel doesn't have that much supplies here. He's not sure he has what he needs for the boy. My husband—Otis—he's the one who shot the boy. It was an accident. Otis—he would never hurt a fly. Not on purpose. He was hunting for us and—he never saw the boy. The bullet went through the deer that he shot. Otis is with them right now. I think they're talking about trying to find some supplies."

Carol swallowed and nodded her head.

"You mean—looking for some tomorrow?" Carol asked.

"I mean—maybe as soon as possible," Patricia responded. "The boy might not make it to see the morning if Hershel can't get what he needs. They're discussing it now. We'll know more soon." She stood up from the seat she'd briefly taken at the table. "Feed her as much as she'd like. There's always more than we can eat. Everyone is starting to get sick of applesauce. I'm going to check on things, but—I'll let you know when the shower's open."

"Thank you," Carol offered.

Patricia didn't say anything else until she'd crossed the kitchen and was practically stepping out into the hallway beyond.

"I'll make sure your husband knows where you are," Patricia offered.

Carol's stomach tightened, but she didn't call back in Patricia's direction to tell her that she'd made a mistake—to do so would be to practically yell down at the hall at this point.

And Carol was sure that Daryl, when Patricia found him, would set the record straight. She only hoped that he wasn't too mad at the presumption that the woman had made.

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 **AN: I'll put in the disclaimer that I don't know the farmhouse layout exactly, so take it for what it is, please. Suspension of disbelief is always appreciated.**


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl had actually never told the woman that he wasn't Carol's husband and he wasn't Sophia's father. He realized, probably an hour after she said it, that he'd never actually told her that what she believed wasn't true.

He was sitting in an empty bedroom, holding a clean and well-fed Sophia against his chest while she hummed to him and considered falling asleep while her mother showered, and it struck him that he'd never actually told the woman—Patricia—that she was mistaken.

She'd caught him off-guard. She'd come quickly, finding him, and she'd thrust towels in his direction. They were big, fluffy, yellow towels that didn't seem suiting to the kind of life that they'd been living. Daryl had tried to refuse the towels—or at least to tell her that he didn't need a stack that was quite so large—when she'd spoken.

"This should be enough for all of you. Your wife is feeding the baby applesauce in the kitchen."

Daryl never managed to refuse the towels. He never managed to set the record straight. He'd simply stood there, crowded in the hallway where Patricia had found him, and held the towels in his hands like a chump. She'd smiled at him, worked her way past him in the narrow hallway, and fluttered off to some other task before he'd even had the sense to close his mouth entirely and put one foot in front of the other.

He hadn't even told Carol what she'd said.

Because when he found Carol—in the kitchen where Patricia said that she'd be with the baby—he was still holding the fluffy yellow towels and she looked at him with her eyes as wide as he'd ever seen them before, and there had been something there—something behind her eyes that he couldn't identify. It had looked a little like fear. And his focus had suddenly shifted entirely. Was she OK? Had something happened? He'd stammered out the questions and her shoulders had sagged forward. She'd pasted on a smile before she asked him the same questions back as her only answer.

He was so relieved by her palpable relief—which he didn't fully understand, but he'd never fully understood women— that he didn't dare to upset her by letting her know that the blonde woman might be under the impression that they were married, and she might be under the impression that Sophia was his kid, and he might not have had the presence of mind to let her know that she was wrong.

The next thing he knew, Carol had been practically pushing him into the vacant shower upstairs so that he could help her with Sophia—something he'd volunteered to do without hesitation. She'd nursed Sophia while he'd showered, and then she washed the baby and dressed her in something clean and comfortable. Daryl had found the empty room off the bathroom where he could sit and hold the baby while Carol took her own shower.

And sitting down, in the quiet, with the little girl humming to him as she worked her way toward sleep, it returned to Daryl that he'd never fully denied his claim to either Carol or Sophia when Patricia had spoken to him. He'd never told Carol, either, what Patricia believed, and now he wasn't sure how to go about doing either one.

When Carol came into the room, it snatched Daryl out of his daydream. She brought with her the scent of shampoo and soap. She stuffed her dirty clothes into the bag that already held his clothes and Sophia's clothes—the bag from which she would do the laundry if she were given the opportunity to do so. She was wearing a floral shirt that she had either found somewhere or been given because it was at least two sizes too large and hung awkwardly on her thin frame. She was wearing sweatpants, too, that sagged a little around her waist and reminded Daryl that she'd lost some weight since the last time he'd seen her wear them. The ensemble was almost comical when it was paired with a pair of boots that went just above her ankles—spoils of some of the highways scavenging.

Daryl snorted.

"What's funny?" Carol asked, straightening up from fussing with the laundry bag and running her fingers through her barely-there hair. It was growing, but it was only slightly longer than when he'd first met her and she'd had practically no hair at all.

"You look ridiculous," he offered.

Carol looked down at her outfit like she hadn't seen it before and hadn't been responsible for dressing herself in the bathroom.

"It's all I have that's clean," Carol said. "And—I'm not exactly hitting the runway. I've only got to make it all the way to the tent." She laughed to herself and started toward the bed where Daryl was sitting. "Besides, I never knew you were such a fashion guru."

"I'm not," Daryl said with a laugh. "Just—givin' you hell, I guess." He hesitated a moment. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Carol said. "If that's your idea of giving me hell, I'll take it. I can handle it. Is she asleep?"

"Almost," Daryl said. "Will be by the time we get to the tents if—you don't mind me carryin' her."

Carol smiled at him.

"Making the switch might wake her up," Carol said. "I think it might be best. If you don't mind, of course. I'll carry the bag."

"Carol," Daryl said, forcing out the word as she turned to walk back toward the bag so that they could leave the privacy of the empty bedroom. She turned quickly. Daryl felt his stomach churn. To help steady his nerves, he patted Sophia's back, uncertain as to whether or not she was actually awake. "That woman—Patricia?" Carol's face fell into concern. "She thought you and me…were married."

"I know," Carol said.

"I'm sorry," Daryl said. "I didn't tell her she was wrong. I didn't—think about it in time."

Carol laughed to herself.

"I didn't tell her she was wrong," Carol said. "I guess—I didn't think about it in time either. I guess—I'm sorry, too."

Daryl's stomach churned. They'd all grazed their meals out of their rations while they'd been waiting on turns in the shower. Daryl's meal had consisted mostly of beans and some of the applesauce that they seemed to have in abundance around this house. Now he was feeling like that general combination wasn't the best idea he'd ever had.

Or, perhaps, the churning feeling in his gut wasn't the beans and applesauce at all. Perhaps it was the simple realization that he wasn't sorry that Patricia thought he was married to Carol. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world that could ever happen to a man like Daryl—not even close.

Maybe he was sorry because she wasn't right.

Maybe he was sorry because it wasn't the kind of thing that did happen to man like him. Hearing her say it and realizing how untrue it was had brought that sharply to Daryl's attention.

Maybe that was why his stomach ached.

He soothed himself with tenderly rubbing the baby's back and, thankfully, Sophia didn't complain about his affections or try to shy away from them.

"We can tell her the truth tomorrow," Daryl offered softly. Carol frowned. She might not want to sleep on it, but downstairs they were getting ready to send Patricia's husband—Otis—off with Shane to look for supplies and Daryl figured she had bigger things she might be worried about than whether or not she'd mistaken the relationship between Carol and Daryl. "In the mornin'," he added, trying not to make the wait seem too dramatic and drawn out.

Carol nodded her head. She pasted on a smile that Daryl didn't entirely believe.

"Whenever you want," she said. "It isn't hurting anything for tonight. Are you—ready?" Daryl nodded and stood up. "You're sure you—you don't want me to take her?"

"Got her," Daryl said. "Can carry the bag, too."

"I've got it," Carol assured him.

They didn't speak as they left the bedroom, made their way through the house, and exited the front door. There was really nothing to say and they had spent enough time around each other, at this point, that it wasn't necessary to speak to anticipate what they would do next.

Daryl eased the door closed behind him and followed Carol down the porch steps with Sophia still sleeping against him. Whereas the house had been the hub of activity earlier, the yard was the busiest place at the moment. In the closest "shanty-town" of tents and the RV, there were a few lanterns burning. Daryl could see shadows moving about. People were starting to settle in for the night and decide where they intended to sleep.

In the driveway, there was a quiet discussion that, despite its volume, sounded perhaps a bit heated between Rick and Shane. Patricia—the woman that had stirred Daryl's gut up so much—was quietly talking to her husband.

There was an old man that Daryl hadn't formally met that was engaged in a conversation with Lori.

Neither Daryl nor Carol interrupted any of the goings-on around them. It wasn't their place. Instead, they made their way across the yard toward the dark area where their tents were set up. Daryl followed behind Carol. From either the pocket of her sweatpants or the bag of dirty clothes, she produced one of the small flashlights that she'd found—something that fit on a keychain—and she guided them across the ground with that. At her tent, she crawled inside and lit her camping lantern before she crawled back out again. Without saying anything to Daryl, she crawled into his tent and did the same.

Carol smiled at him when she straightened up and stood in front of him, the light of the lanterns shining out both tents barely illuminated their space.

"I coulda lit my own," Daryl offered.

"You shouldn't have to go into a dark tent," Carol said.

"You want me to—put her down? In there?" Daryl asked.

Carol reached her arms out.

"She's been asleep for a while," Carol said. "At least since we were upstairs. I think she'll make the transfer OK."

Daryl quickly brushed his face against the top of the baby's head before he passed her over to Carol. Sophia didn't wake in the exchange or, if she did, she didn't stir. Carol hugged her daughter against her body and kissed the same head that Daryl had only recently nuzzled.

From having held the baby for so long, Daryl's arms felt a little tired, and that tiredness made them feel especially empty at the moment.

Carol smiled at him.

"You'll have some privacy tonight," Carol said.

Daryl glanced back toward the two tents. They were side-by-side on the ground, but two cloth walls would stand between them, along with a short distance of dirt. It was the most that had separated them since they'd left the rock quarry.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "Privacy. You too."

"I'll try to keep her quiet," Carol said.

"Don't bother me," Daryl offered. "You need anything…"

Carol's smile renewed.

"You too," Carol said.

Daryl nodded his thanks and then, got into his tent because he didn't know what else to say or how to end the conversation. Carol, too, got into her tent. Daryl sat with his feet outside his and lit a cigarette. Next to him, he could see Carol's silhouette as she arranged Sophia in the little bed that she'd made her out of a sleeping bag. He could see her getting herself ready. He watched her as she moved around and finally settled down with what he assumed was a book.

Across the yard, a vehicle left. It rolled down the driveway. Someone walked through the field—it must have been Andrea because Daryl heard Dale's voice warning the person to be careful and he wouldn't have worried so much over anybody else.

It didn't take long and everyone outside that wouldn't stay there disappeared into the farmhouse where lights would probably burn all night to keep some kind of vigil over Carl—whose condition Daryl really didn't know much about other than he was in need of supplies for the old man, who Daryl hadn't met in earnest yet, to have a chance at saving him.

Slowly the shanty town got still and quiet and dark.

Eventually Carol's lamp was blown out and she and Sophia got still beside him.

Daryl sat for a while, alone in the stillness of the night, and smoked.

He liked to pretend that he enjoyed being alone. He liked to pretend that he didn't need anyone. The truth was, though, that he really didn't care for being alone. Being alone reminded him of that. He preferred to have someone there. Carol thought he wanted his privacy—or maybe she was simply craving her own because she was starting to tire of his constant presence—but the truth of the matter was that he'd enjoyed sharing nearly every waking moment, since they'd left the rock quarry, with her and Sophia.

Now, crawling into his tent, Daryl realized that he hadn't felt quite this alone since the moment that he'd realized Merle was gone from the roof, and that he was probably never coming back, leaving Daryl utterly and completely alone in the world.

Settling into his sleeping bag, blowing out the lamp, and looking toward the darkness where he knew her tent sat, Daryl wished for less distance and canvas between them. If she hadn't needed her privacy, he would have told her that it was simply safer to share a tent.

He would have told her anything, probably, just to close that distance.

But he left her alone to sleep in peace and privacy, instead, and he closed his eyes to hope for pleasant dreams and a morning that was quick to break.


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Something just didn't sit right with Daryl about Shane's return to the farm. He came, sure enough, with the supplies that he'd been sent to get, but he also came alone. He hadn't left alone, though, and something about his story weighed uncomfortably on Daryl.

The place had been overrun with Walkers—and that much they'd known before they'd even left the farm. While they'd been at the place, Shane reported that Otis—Patricia's husband and the man who accidentally shot Carl—had acted bravely and heroically. His greatest concern had been to supply Carl with what he needed. He wanted the child to be saved above all else. From Shane's story, it appeared that Otis had sacrificed himself so that Shane—more able-bodied and better equipped to get the supplies back—could reach Carl in time. He had been entirely selfless and had thought nothing of his own safety.

Those who knew him, though, said that everything that Shane had said sounded like Otis. He had been, apparently, a very selfless man who cared a great deal for others. He had also been deeply sorry for shooting Carl.

According to Shane's story, they'd gotten overtaken by Walkers and Shane had managed to get away, but Otis hadn't. Those things happened nearly every day. Everything in the story was practically commonplace these days, but something in the way Shane told the story just didn't sit right with Daryl—even if he couldn't put his finger on what that was exactly.

The situation with Carl was apparently critical, so there was no memorial for Otis. That would come later, clearly, when there wasn't a life at stake. Patricia abandoned any thought of mourning her husband to try to avoid losing even one more life. Rick, Lori, and Shane stuck close by the house and kept vigil over the surgery that was being performed by the old man—Hershel Greene—who owned the farm and was offering his services. The rest of them kept busy with any task they could pick up for a moment.

To try and keep them from all-too-quickly wearing out their welcome, Carol had prepared breakfast for the farmer's family and those who were working to save Carl's life so that they could grab something when they had the opportunity. Then she'd dedicated herself, as she often did, to washing the clothes for their group.

Daryl had offered to help her in any way he could, and he'd gone to draw water from the well they'd been offered the use of as needed. They'd quickly discovered that, somehow, the cover on that well had been broken and a Walker had fallen in some time in the past. It was bloated and stuck in the well. Gathering up everyone available to them, they'd managed to pull the Walker out of the well, but not without tearing the damned thing to pieces and ruining the water supply that the well provided. Luckily there were other wells on the property, and they'd been offered use of another one even though it required carrying the water longer distances to get back to their makeshift camp.

Daryl spent most of his day hauling water, Carol spent most of hers cooking and cleaning, and Glenn spent most of his helping those that lived on the farm to gather the fruits and vegetables that were ripe and would spoil if left too long. He also followed them around to assist in feeding and watering the animals. Andrea had helped Carol with washing up dishes and cleaning the farmhouse kitchen after everyone had eaten, but then she'd disappeared to keep watch for Walkers while Dale kept watch over her. T-Dog jumped around from spot to spot, doing his best to help whoever might need him with whatever task they were completing.

They were all more than capable of staying busy for a day, especially when they really had relatively few worries about Walkers, so they were able to fully involve themselves in what they were doing. Carol's concern was having the group ready to leave if they had to leave in a moment's notice, but Daryl also knew that she was hoping their stay there could be long-term.

He only actually discussed such a thing with her, though, when she met him outside their tents after she finished with washing up the dishes inside the farmhouse after dinner.

Daryl had taken Sophia to make Carol's life a little easier and to free her up to move around, and he'd walked a few laps around the farmhouse with the baby tied to his chest in her wrap. He'd only returned to the tents when Sophia was truly asleep and his feet were starting to ache from the pacing.

As Carol crossed the farmyard in the failing light of the coming night, Daryl could see she was exhausted just by how she carried herself. She'd worn herself into the dirt more than anyone had—doing her best to take care of the group and, at the same time, to take care of those who lived on the farm so that they might consider extending their hospitality longer.

"I'm sorry I'm so late," Carol called out as she got closer."

"Don't worry about it," Daryl responded. He spoke only loudly enough for her to hear, but not enough that he would risk waking Sophia.

"You shouldn't have been stuck with her all evening," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself and patted the back of the baby. He'd had her turned so that she could see where they were going when she was simply riding along while he walked boring circles around the farmhouse, but once she'd started to settle and hum at him—a sure sign that she was considering sleep—he'd turned her around to face him because she seemed to like to sleep flat against his chest more than in any other position.

"That what'cha call it? I thought she was keepin' me company. Let her crawl some on the blanket in my tent. Then we went for a walk. She's asleep, now."

"She'll wake up hungry," Carol said.

"Prob'ly," Daryl agreed as Carol closed the distance between them and stood in front of where he sat in a folding chair that he'd snagged from Dale. "But there weren't nothin' I could do about that."

"You didn't have to watch her," Carol said. "I hate to—keep bothering you like that."

"What was I doin' with my time, exactly?" Daryl asked with a laugh. "It ain't like there's much more in the way of entertainment around here than there was at the CDC. Besides—you had your hands full."

"Well—thank you," Carol offered.

"Don't want your thanks," Daryl said. "What's happenin' in there?"

"The surgery was successful," Carol said. "Carl's OK. He's going to need to recover. Lori said that Hershel believes he'll need at least two weeks."

"So we stayin'?" Daryl asked.

"The man wants us off his land," Carol said. "But—he doesn't quite have the heart to throw us back out there until Carl's doing better. If we left right now, Carl wouldn't make it. He'd likely catch infection and die. All of this would have been wasted."

"That woman's husband woulda died for nothin'," Daryl said. "Woulda been better, at that rate, if he'da just killed Carl when he shot him."

"Hershel's going to let us stay until Carl's back on his feet."

"And then we're just right back out there doin' what we were," Daryl said. It wasn't really a question as much as it was an observation, but Carol hummed and nodded her head in agreement.

"I think—Rick wants to try to talk him into letting us stay. There's a lot of land. If we were to work together, we could even expand the fences and build some structures. We could work together for farming and raising animals."

"You talkin' about buildin' somethin' sustainable," Daryl said. "Our own little Eden in the middle of all this shit."

"It's safe out here," Carol said. "We haven't seen Walkers since we got here. There's clean water, there's food—we know the ground's fertile."

"But you don't think the old man'll bite," Daryl said. "Won't let us stay."

"What reason does he have to?" Carol asked. "We're just strangers to him. This is all his. He doesn't have to share any of it."

"Strength in numbers," Daryl said.

"Strength against what? If it's safe…"

"But it might not always be safe," Daryl said. "You know good as I do that what's safe today is hell tomorrow."

"He might let us stay if we're not too much trouble. If we pull our weight and help out and—follow his rules."

"His rules?" Daryl asked.

"He's said that he doesn't want guns on his property," Carol said. "And he doesn't want people thinking they can take over. This is his land and he's letting us stay here."

"Fair enough," Daryl said. "I got a gun, but I got no need to use it. Content to leave it in the truck if that makes him happy. I can still get some deer to put on his table an' ours with the bow. It's better anyway."

"I think he makes an exception for hunting," Carol said. "He doesn't like that Rick and Shane are trying to insist on carrying their guns."

"Stupid," Daryl said. "Them damn guns gonna get us into trouble anyway. You can't go poppin' off shots any time you want when these nasty ass creatures hunt by sound as much as anything else."

"If we follow the rules, we might get invited to stay. If they don't—I'm afraid we'll be asked to leave," Carol said.

Daryl sighed.

"Don't worry about it right now," Daryl said. "A couple weeks is a long time to rest. It'll give us time to—think about where we go if we do gotta move on."

"And when winter comes?" Carol asked.

Daryl nodded his head.

"Here or there, we'll have somethin' to keep our asses covered by then," Daryl said.

Carol made a sound like a light laugh. She stepped forward and reached for Sophia. Daryl carefully stood up and untangled the baby from her wrap, hugging her to his body once when she started to wake. He gently passed her over to Carol and, immediately, he felt a lump rising in his throat.

It was getting dark. It was time for bed. Around them, everyone was starting to settle in for the night. Carol even said as much.

"It's getting late," she breathed out. The words caught in Daryl's chest and tugged at his heart.

Nights could be unbearably long.

"Gettin' late," he echoed with what he could find of his voice. "You prob'ly tired."

"I'm sure you are, too," Carol said.

Thankfully she didn't immediately dive for her tent. Thankfully she lingered for at least a moment longer. She didn't leave him alone just yet.

"Safe out here," Daryl said. "Seems that way at least. With the fences. No Walkers."

"None that we've seen," Carol echoed.

"Still—if you was to get nervous at night," Daryl said. "I mean—scared. Just 'cause of—of what'cha know is out there. What's happened before…"

"Sometimes I get scared just because I think—what if the fences don't hold? What if—something we never expect happens? Like at the CDC?"

Daryl hummed. His stomach was doing odd things. They didn't make sense. There was no reason for him to feel so nervous. There was no need to feel like his gut was twisting in half and his mouth was going dry.

But he felt that way. Carol had a way of making him feel that way by simply being near him.

"If you get scared like that," Daryl said, "you won't bother me if you was to wake me. I don't sleep much anyway."

"I hardly sleep," Carol offered.

"Slept good at the CDC," Daryl said. "You didn't sleep too bad in the truck."

"It's different here," Carol said. "You slept pretty well both of those places too, as I recall."

Daryl held his breath for a beat.

"What's different?" Daryl asked. "The—walls? Bein' closed in?"

"Being close to someone?" Carol asked. Her answer slammed into him and his heart responded to the impact by slamming around in his ribcage. He was pretty sure it had pulled loose from wherever it was supposed to be attached and had gone rogue.

"You don't like bein' alone?" Daryl asked.

The corner of Carol's mouth turned up just slightly before she turned her head away from him to brush her lips over the top of Sophia's head. The baby had barely noticed the transfer, and she was happy with sleeping in her mother's arms.

"I guess—I don't," Carol said.

"You didn't say nothin'," Daryl said.

Carol rolled her eyes back in his direction, but she continued to lightly nuzzle her daughter's head for a second.

"It's not exactly the kind of thing that—you want to tell someone, is it? It's hard to tell someone that…you wish you weren't alone," Carol said.

Daryl nodded.

"I see that," Daryl said. "But—long as it's out there. I mean—if you don't sleep good. You—need to sleep."

"Are you—saying you'd be willing to…share my tent, Daryl?" Carol asked.

"If it'd help," Daryl said.

Carol smiled at him.

"I think it would help," she said. "It might be crowded."

"Not no more'n the truck," Daryl offered. "I mean—if it ain't too crowded for you. Yours is—it's bigger'n mine."

"I wouldn't want to put you out," Carol said.

"Won't put me out," Daryl said.

"I don't want you to feel like—I'm taking away all your privacy," Carol said.

"Get enough of it," Daryl said. "During the day. When we're busy. Unless—you're worried about your privacy."

Carol smiled. She shook her head.

"I've never been that worried about my privacy," she admitted. "I prefer—good company."

Daryl nodded his head.

"Settled, then," he said.

"It's settled," Carol echoed.

"If you sure," Daryl said.

"I'm sure," Carol said. "If you're sure."

"Don't want'cha to be—scared an' all. Alone. An' you—need your sleep," Daryl said.

Carol nodded.

"I do," she said. "You want to—get your sleeping bag? While I get Sophia settled?"

"Yeah," Daryl said. "Yeah—I'ma just smoke…get my sleepin' bag. You get Sophia settled. And—I'ma be right there."

"Good," Carol said. She smiled at him one more time, cuddled Sophia a little tighter against her, and went toward her tent. Daryl stood there, in place. He lit a cigarette and watched her go. His hands were shaking, but it was dark enough that nobody would have noticed if they'd been there to see. He watched her shadow as she moved around in the tent with the lamp lit. She settled Sophia and made room for Daryl.

He hadn't had to ask to share her tent and her company. She'd asked him, really.

He'd just been lucky that she'd happened to need exactly what he needed. He'd been lucky that she'd wanted exactly what he'd wanted.

And his gut told him that he was lucky that she seemed to know exactly what he needed, and she seemed too know that he needed not to have to ask her.

"Daryl—are you coming?" Carol asked, her voice barely making its way out from behind the canvas walls of her tent.

Daryl smiled to himself. He took a long draw off his cigarette and walked over to his own tent. He reached in and, without putting the effort into really crawling into it, he grabbed the bottom of his sleeping bag. It came when he tugged on it, dragging his pillow and poncho and everything else he'd stuffed in there with it. He roughly rolled it all up to keep it from dragging in the dirt and tucked the whole roll under his arm.

He finished the cigarette, ground it into the ground to put out the flame, and cast one last glance around to make sure that all was still and quiet.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm on my way."


	23. Chapter 23

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I'm putting this announcement on everything I'm writing for now. I should let you all know that in a week, I'll be starting a class for work that will occupy almost every waking moment of my time for two weeks. Please pass it on if anyone should wonder where I've gone during that time. I won't have run away; I'll simply be working.**

 **I hope that you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl hated to call the old man cantankerous, especially since he considered it the kind of antiquated word that nobody younger than his grandparents would have used in everyday conversation, but it was truly the only word that could describe the farmer. He was riled up that they were on his land and, even though they weren't hurting anything, he would have preferred if they simply weren't there. He didn't hide his feelings too well, either. Of course, Daryl doubted that he was really trying.

The man was a farmer. He was a widower with two daughters—one of which was barely more than a child. Somehow, at the turn, he'd become responsible for the young boyfriend of that youngest daughter, and he'd taken on Patricia and her husband Otis—who had worked there on the farm. With Otis gone, and Patricia a widow, it was evident that Hershel considered her his responsibility. Really, it was clear that he felt responsible for anyone and everyone that fell under his care. Maybe that was one of the reasons that he didn't like a whole group of people moving in right up under his nose. Maybe he feared that he would let his guard down, grow attached, and then gain more responsibility than he could handle.

There were other things, though, that probably added to the man's distaste of having them all there.

Carl was healing, but he needed to remain in the old man's—Hershel Greene's—home to avoid infection. It was under Hershel's insistence that he stayed there. Lori, Carl's mother, stayed with him. But it appeared that Rick also insisted on space there, and Shane hardly ever left either.

Maybe Hershel was feeling that they were closing in on him.

In addition, Shane defied Hershel's request that they not wear guns. Everyone had put away their weapons—allowed to keep them, but asked to keep them hidden—but Shane had kept his on his own person, insisting that Hershel didn't know what the world was like. He was too sheltered to understand what was out there.

Shane had a duty to protect the group.

That's what he said, at least, but Daryl knew that Shane wasn't protecting the group. Shane had relatively little interest in the group at all. From where Daryl was standing, Shane had done his best to beg a frustration-calming piece of pussy off of Andrea—even though Daryl didn't know if she'd given it to him or not, though she was surely in need of some frustration relief from Dale breathing down her neck constantly—but he wasn't even interested in protecting the blonde. The only people Shane really cared about were Lori and Carl—and Rick didn't seem to even notice that the man spent as much time around Rick's wife as Rick did.

Hershel let Shane keep his gun, mostly because there was nothing he could do to force him to get rid of it, but Daryl was almost positive that he was frustrated by the fact that his desires meant nothing on his own land. He was being muscled out of that which belonged, rightfully, only to him.

Then there was the food.

Surely one of the greatest comforts in Hershel's life had been building something to sustain his family. It was clear to Daryl that he was one of those who had prided himself, during his long life, over the fact that he could care for his family if the world went to hell in a handbasket. He had built this farm with his hands—that much he'd told Daryl in a moment of frustration—and he'd seen it through some times when he'd almost been sure that he'd lose it forever. He'd always kept in mind the possibility that, someday, something might happen where they were forced—like people in pockets of time throughout history—to care for themselves without the help of the government or any outside force. He'd built for that time. He'd prepared for that time. And now it was upon them.

And now that such a time was upon them, and now that Hershel Greene could fully prove that he was able and ready to provide for his family without the assistance of any outside force, there descended upon his farm a group of "others" who wanted to eat from his gardens and orchards and storehouses.

It was Carol that offered over what they had to add to whatever Hershel might be willing to share with them. It was Glenn that offered to organize runs to nearby places in search of food to supplement what they had. It was Daryl who offered to traipse off into the woods and fill the smokehouse on the property with meat that overflowed from that which he put, fresh, on the table. It was Dale, T-Dog, and Andrea that offered to pick vegetables and fruit, and to help gather eggs and feed livestock. It was Carol and Andrea that offered their hands at canning food with Patricia and Hershel's daughters.

And it was Lori who made the greatest demands and Rick and Shane that supported her demands.

Whether there was something drifting in on the wind from Atlanta and the destroyed CDC, or whether there was something airborne from the decay that surrounded them in a world littered with mobile corpses, or whether there was simply something that was coming in with the slow crawl toward a change in seasons, they were all starting to show different signs of some kind of communal cold.

There were some complaints of scratchy throats, scattered headaches, and even some muscle aches and light wheezing. There were sneezes, coughs, runny noses, and eyes that watered. Hershel was aware of these illnesses—he walked around with a handkerchief to wipe his own nose almost constantly—but there was nothing that he could do for what ailed anyone. As far as he and Patricia could tell, it was a harmless cold. Nobody had any fever. There was nothing they could nail down. There was no way to treat something that seemed, for all intents and purposes, like a simple virus or something that needed to run its course.

And there wasn't really much to treat it with if it turned out to be more than that. The pharmacies were picked clean and the mobile unit where Shane had snagged supplies was too overrun and, honestly, pretty well picked over.

The sniffles and cold symptoms had been running through the entire group for a few days. During those few days, Lori had essentially demanded that the best of the food go to Carl. He was healing, of course, and needed the nutrition. Really, Daryl didn't think that anyone would fault her the concern she had over her son's well-being. Neither would they deny the child what he needed to get better.

Rather, what he was sure was starting to grate on everyone's nerves—Hershel Greene's included—was the fact that she seemed to believe that whatever Carl got, she should get by extension as his mother and caretaker and, beyond that, there was very little mention of what anyone else might need.

Nobody else made demands because, whether or not they said anything about it to Hershel Greene or even to each other, they all worried that Lori's demands might be what finally drove the old man over the edge. They didn't want him to demand that they all had to pack up and leave the safety of his fences for the risk of the open road—especially not with so many of them silently starting to worry if the start of this cold or virus, or whatever it was that ailed them, was only the beginning of something much worse.

Daryl kept his head down and his mouth closed, for the most part, and helped out where he could as the days ticked on. Like everyone else, he quietly hoped that the winds would change and Hershel Greene, instead of hoping for the day that he could wave them off and close the gate behind them, would welcome them to stay and build something more on his land that would help them all to be comfortable.

For the time being, Daryl was learning to simply be comfortable and content in a tent with Carol and Sophia.

And, honestly, it wasn't that bad.

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"Daryl…Daryl…"

As he opened his eyes, he wasn't sure how many times he'd heard his name circling around his brain like a whisper in a dream.

His mouth was dry. It was hot and painfully dry, but that was likely owing to the coughing that had been plaguing him throughout the day. The dry cough had started with Lori, and she'd seemed to pass it to Andrea, but now it was spreading. It went right along with everything else that was practically a mystery to all of them.

"Daryl…"

It was dark, but slowly he was reminded that they were in a tent that smelled faintly of campfire smoke and a little like sweat and the unending occupancy for which it was never made. He shifted around and sat up, snatched into his reality by the realization that it was Carol who was repeating his name.

"What? What's wrong?" Daryl asked. Immediately he fumbled around and found his lighter. He found the camping lantern and lit it. Carol was sitting on her knees with Sophia in her arms. The little girl looked like a rag doll with her body draped over her mother.

Carol was clearly crying. Daryl could see the tears glittering as the light caught them. Immediately, his heart felt like it stopped beating in his chest and his breathing caught.

"I don't know," Carol said. "I don't know what's wrong…"

"Soph?" Daryl asked, scrambling around and practically crawling into Carol's lap to be close to her and the baby.

"It was just the cough before bed," Carol said. "The cough and the—the crying."

The crying. Daryl had damn near come to blows with Shane over the crying. Carol had been cleaning up the Greene's kitchen after she'd served Hershel dessert and hot coffee to try to remind him that having her there was a blessing. Daryl had been holding Sophia out on the porch while Shane had been loitering just outside the window where Lori and Carl held down a bed under Rick's supervision.

Sophia had been crying because she didn't feel well, or dinner sat heavy on her stomach, or because she was tired and needed her mother's milk and a good rocking. Whatever her reason for crying, she couldn't communicate it to Daryl and his presence wasn't enough to soothe her. He'd sat on the step and rocked her as he rocked his body and smoked a cigarette, but he knew he wasn't going to be able to end her suffering—only Carol would be able to do that, and she couldn't do that until she'd finished trying to soothe over the daily sting brought on by Rick and his.

Shane had had the balls to say something about Sophia's crying. He'd had the balls to say that the baby's crying was going to be what ended them all. It carried, he said. It would call Walkers down on them. When the Walkers finally came, it would be Sophia's screams that did them in.

It would be Sophia's screams that led the old man to run them off the farm because he was tired of the never-ending headache she caused.

If anyone had been there to hold the miserable baby, and if he'd been sure that Hershel Greene wouldn't have kicked them off the farm for fighting, Daryl would have knocked Shane Walsh's teeth down his throat right there on Hershel Greene's front porch.

Instead, he only picked the baby up and told Shane that it was going to be Lori's bawling that got them all thrown outside the fences again. It was going to be Lori's whining and bellyaching that cost them everything they had.

And then he'd spit a few choice words at Shane in response to those that Shane spat at him to question his parentage.

He'd taken Sophia to the tent so that she could cry in peace until Carol had come to soothe her and get her to sleep.

"What's wrong with her?" Daryl asked.

"Can you hear that?" Carol asked. She sucked back snot. Daryl didn't know if it was caused by her tears or the fact that the strand of whatever sickness they were all nursing that had settled in on her was causing her nose to run.

"What is it?" Daryl asked.

"Her chest," Carol said. "Her breathing…she was coughing and then she just stopped. She stopped doing anything at all. She got—still."

"Fell asleep?"

"Maybe but…Daryl…"

Daryl heard her voice shake. His own chest seized again at the desperate way in which she said his name. He hated to hear so much pain behind his name and to know that there was nothing he could do to soothe it.

He leaned his head against the baby's chest as she lay limp in her mother's arms.

"Whistlin' an' wheezin'," Daryl said. "Don't sound right. The cough was dry. I was around Andrea earlier when she was damned near givin' up her left lung. It was a dry cough. This is wet. There's fluid. Sounds like infection."

"Is she breathing?" Carol asked.

"She's breathin'," Daryl assured her.

Carol's whole body was shaking. Daryl cold see it now. She was trembling like she was freezing to death, but Daryl knew she wasn't cold. He touched his hand to Sophia's head. He moved it around to find the warm skin on the back of her neck. His fingers brushed Carol's arm. She sucked back against her own tears once more and did her best to swallow it all down.

"Is she breathing enough, Daryl?" Carol asked.

Daryl understood what she was saying. The baby sounded like she was struggling to breathe. She wasn't waking to protest her suffering, though. Instead, she was simply limp in Carol's arms, struggling to breathe.

"She's hot," Daryl said. "Got fever. Got infection."

A choking cry escaped Carol, but she controlled it almost immediately. Her face was wet with tears and snot and there was nothing she could do to stop that now.

"What do I do?" Carol asked.

Daryl nearly cried out in pain at his body's response to the desperate sound of her voice and the realization that she felt like this was something she had to handle on her own. He nodded at her. He reached his arms out and took Sophia, and Carol allowed him to make the transfer, although she did so a little reluctantly.

Daryl worried, though, that her knees might not hold out for the walk to the farmhouse and he didn't want her to go down and drop the baby.

"I'ma tell you what we gonna do," Daryl said. "We gonna—take her to that farmhouse. We gonna—take her to Hershel Greene. We gonna tell him she's sick an' we gonna do what we gotta do to get her well. That's what we gonna do. But she's gonna need you, 'cause she don't find no comfort in me. Not like she finds in you. Can you do that? Can we do that?"

Carol looked at him, looked at her daughter's slack body in his arms, and nodded her head vigorously.

"Come on then," Daryl said. "Let's go."


	24. Chapter 24

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"This will bring the fever down some," Hershel offered as he squeezed medicine into Sophia's mouth with a medicine dropper.

Sophia rested on the bed, clearly exhausted to the point of barely being able to find the strength to move, and she let out bit of a cry and balled herself up over the thought of swallowing down the medication. She did accept it, though. She coughed and Carol pulled her into her where she reclined on the bed near her.

"It will help most of the symptoms," Hershel said. "It should—ease the cough. Help her sleep. You can nurse her if that would help her feel a bit more soothed."

"Will she need more?" Carol asked, watching as he put away the bottle that he'd produced from his pocket.

"In a few hours," Hershel said. "You can let me know if she gets any worse. The most you can do right now is simply keep her comfortable. You can—spend the night in here. If you want. She might sleep better."

Carol thanked him for his help and she picked Sophia up. Daryl didn't need to watch to know that she would nurse the baby as the old man had suggested.

Daryl hadn't missed the expressions that had danced across the old man's features, though, and he hadn't missed the look that he'd given Patricia. Carol might have missed it, but that was probably only owing the fact that her role as Sophia's mother made her want to see things a certain way.

Daryl followed Hershel when he left the room and he stopped him just as soon as the bedroom door was closed behind him and they'd taken a few steps down the hallway in the direction of the living room. Patricia stopped, too, even though Daryl didn't reach out to catch her shoulder. A few feet away, bunched together in the living room, they had an audience of most of their group members and the occupants of the farmhouse. The moving around in the early morning hours that Carol and Daryl had caused on the way to the farmhouse had roused everyone that slept in ever-present fear of Walkers, and once they knew what was really going on, they'd all traipsed inside.

Daryl assumed that some were there out of concern for Carol or Sophia. Others, he was sure, were only there because they were concerned that the common cold they were all nursing in some capacity might become something more, and they were waiting on some kind of verdict to be handed over by Hershel.

"What'd you give her?" Daryl asked.

"I beg your pardon?" Hershel asked.

"What'd you give the baby?" Daryl asked. "What'd you give Soph?"

He saw the expression again as it crossed the old man's features. Then, suddenly, Hershel Greene just looked old and tired. He looked like an old man that had been woken up in the earliest hours of the morning to deal with something that was too heavy for him to carry.

"I gave her something to help the symptoms," Hershel said. "I—didn't want to say anything in front of her mother. I'm sorry…"

"You sorry you didn't say anything?" Daryl asked. "Or—you sorry that she's sick? What exactly you sorry for?"

"I'm sorry that—I don't know if there's anything to be done," Hershel said. "It's infection. In her lungs, it sounds like. It'll have to run its course."

"What you give her—it'll help," Daryl said.

"It will help alleviate some of the symptoms," Hershel said. "And it'll help keep her—it'll keep her more comfortable, but it won't heal the infection. It's not antibiotic."

Daryl felt, suddenly, like he might need something for his own lungs. He felt like they might be closing up. His throat, too, was tighter than it had been in a while. He didn't believe, though, that it was really owing too much to the cold.

"You sayin' that—you just gonna let her die or somethin'?" Daryl asked. "You—weren't gonna tell her Ma. Just—let her die? An' you weren't gonna do nothin'?"

"Surely there's something you can do," Andrea said, appearing from the living area. Daryl glanced in that direction and he could see faces—all of them—and he ignored that they were a little blurrier than he remembered them being in the past.

"I'm sorry," Hershel repeated. "It isn't that I don't want to do anything, but she needs medicine. She needs more than I have to offer her. She needs antibiotics."

Daryl forced down a few swallows to try to open up his throat. He swiped at his face, though he was a little ashamed that his sleeve came away dirty and damp from the movement.

"Then give her the fuckin' antibiotics," Daryl said. "I give her a whole bottle." He pointed at Patricia. "A big damn bottle. Merle used to get that shit in bulk. Three month supply an' all. T-Dog—he didn't hardly touch 'em. Didn't have no trouble with that arm once it was cleaned up. Took a week tops outta that bottle. Give her what's left. Give her what she needs."

"That's the problem," Hershel said. "There isn't any left."

"How the hell can there not be any left?" Daryl spat.

"I understand you're upset, son," Hershel said. "But I won't have that kind of language in my home, and I won't have you addressing me like that."

Daryl sucked in a breath and purposefully held it. He counted to ten, released it, sucked in another breath, and did the same thing again. Once, when he'd gotten into some trouble with Merle, they'd both been court mandated into a bullshit anger management class. They had completed the mandatory hours and left the class with relatively little that they could take away. One thing that Daryl had taken away, though, was the holding his breath and counting when he was ready to explode but really wanted to keep his feelings under wraps.

"There's gotta be more left," Daryl said. "T-Dog ain't took all them antibiotics. He couldn't have."

"After the boy was shot," Hershel said, "we gave him the remaining antibiotics to fight away infection in the wound."

"So they all gone," Daryl said, somewhat taking in the words that Hershel Greene was offering him.

"I'm sorry," Hershel said. "I never foresaw that there would be so much demand for the antibiotics. I'm not sure how I could have extended them, but I certainly would have tried if I'd known…"

"We'll just get more," Daryl said.

"The town's been picked clean," Hershel said. "The neighboring town as well. We couldn't find any even before you came with Carl."

"Then we go further out," Daryl said. "You ain't gonna tell me that the whole state of Georgia is lackin' antibiotics. You ain't gonna tell me that the last ones to be had was the ones that Merle left behind an' now they gone too."

"There's a town that's some distance away from here," Hershel said. "It's called Marion. If you were to take the highway, it would take you probably an hour to get there. It's a little bit closer if you could go a straight shot northeast from here."

"Great," Daryl said. "Then we'll get in the truck an' we'll go get the drugs."

"The only reason we haven't been there is because it's cut off," Maggie said. She was the oldest of the farmer's daughters and she was standing there in a nightgown much like the rest of the people that seemed to be watching Daryl like he was the most exciting form of entertainment they'd seen in a long time.

"What do you mean, cut off?" Rick asked, interjecting for the moment. Daryl didn't mind the interruption because Rick was only asking the same question that he would ask.

"The highway," Maggie said. "The place where you got stopped? That snare? It's nothing compared to what there is further north. The whole thing, just about, is blocked off by cars."

"The roads are impassable," Hershel said. "They have been since just after people started to show up with the sickness."

"So we don't take the highway," Daryl said. "So we take the backroads an' we go to this town. Get what we need. They got a hospital?"

"The back roads are pretty well blocked off, too. Even if you could get to it, the town was too small for a hospital," Maggie said. "There was a clinic. It might have something. A couple of doctor's offices and a pharmacy."

"There was a small veterinarian school," Hershel said. "And several vets for the surrounding farms. Any survivors would have picked over the clinics and the doctor's offices. They wouldn't touch the veterinarian school and offices. They don't realize that the medication does the same thing. They wouldn't know how to dose a person."

"But you would?" Daryl asked.

Hershel nodded his head. Daryl nodded in response.

The faces looking at back at him were furrowed with concern. Many of them were probably worried about themselves. Andrea's cough was growing worse by the minute, and even staring at him she launched into a coughing fit that brought Dale to stand behind her like he might catch her if she didn't bring in enough breath to keep her on her feet.

"Can we walk?" Daryl asked.

"It would be a long walk," Hershel said with a laugh.

"Didn't ask that," Daryl said. "Asked if it was possible. There anything that would stop us? Impede us gettin' there on foot when vehicles couldn't stop us?"

"It wouldn't be safe," Shane said.

"Didn't ask that, neither," Daryl pointed out.

"There should be no barriers that I know about," Hershel said. "Physical or geological. But the walk would be long and difficult."

"There would be too many Walkers and we'd be running the risk of getting lost out there," Rick said. "We don't know the area."

"We've done dangerous shit before for stuff that was less important," Daryl offered.

"Think about what you're suggesting, man," Shane said. "You want to go out there and walk through the woods? You want to go looking for a town that's been cut off by accidents and car pile ups? You saw the herd on the highway. You know how many of them are out there. You're talking about possibly letting them catch you when—when there's nowhere to hide. There's nothing to stop them."

"We couldn't handle a herd like that again," Lori said. "We'd be risking everyone's life…"

"An' you don't wanna do that, do you?" Daryl snarled. "You don't wanna risk nobody's life. Not for Sophia. If it was for your kid, then you'd risk every one of us, wouldn't you? One at a time, you'd feed us to the Walkers. You all would if it was Carl that was in that bed barely breathin'. You would if it was Lori that was—that was thinkin' her kid was sick an' maybe dyin'. Wouldn't you? Shane—that what happened? Out there? With Otis?"

"I know you're upset, son…" Hershel started.

"I ain't your son!" Daryl snarled.

"Daryl—I think it's time we stepped outside," Dale offered.

"Come on, man," T-Dog seconded, stepping around the crowd to try to reach Daryl.

"What's going on out here?" Carol asked, appearing behind them. She'd clearly heard some of the commotion from the room.

"Daryl's upset, that's all," Rick said. "Carol—why don't you go back in the room with Sophia? We'll take care of it."

"Upset! Upset my ass! You'd all rather let a little girl die than try to save her!" Daryl spat.

"What are you talking about?" Carol asked. "What is he talking about?"

"Carol—just go back in the room with Sophia," Shane said. "We'll handle this in the morning. Just go back in the room."

Shane pushed past Daryl and caught Carol by the shoulders. He practically tried to wrestle her back in the room. She struggled against him, swept up in panic, and he tried to force her into the room.

And Daryl could barely breathe for the emotion that surged up within him.

"Get your fuckin' hands off her! You'd handle it now if you gave a damn! Why don't'cha tell her that—like she ain't already knowed it?"

Daryl darted toward Shane and Shane shoved Carol through the doorway and into the bedroom just as he turned to shove Daryl outward and toward the door at the end of the hall that would take them to the porch.

Daryl spat a few words at Shane of which he wasn't even entirely aware. He heard Shane shout some words at him that he couldn't fully comprehend either. Suddenly, he felt the air being cut off from his throat. He felt it, this time, in such a way that he knew it wasn't related to his emotions. He was being choked from behind. He was being very forcefully and intentionally choked. He was being shoved. He was being dragged.

Coughing and rasping and starting to see darkness that wasn't the night, Daryl was finally set free to breathe air again when he hit the ground, hard, just beyond the porch steps. He stayed down a moment, in the dirt.

"That's illegal," he spat out.

Suddenly there were hands on him. Cool hands. Soft hands. He expected Carol but found Andrea—given away by the rasping cough that got worse when she yelled something at Shane and her voice went hoarse. He found Shane with his eyes. He found Carol, too. He could hear her calling out to him, but she couldn't get to him.

Shane was holding onto her. He was saying something about her own protection like she would ever need protection from Daryl.

Daryl wasn't sure if he got to his feet on his own or if Andrea helped him, but she stood behind him and his throat still burned—now from having been so thoroughly choked on top of everything else.

"You're just gonna calm down!" Rick yelled. "There's nothing anybody can do until the sun comes up! You're just gonna have to calm down until then or we're going to be forced to—to find a way to restrain you."

"Don't be too hard on him," Hershel said. "He has every right to be upset about his daughter's well-being."

"She ain't his daughter!" Shane barked with a laugh.

She could be. Daryl thought it, but he didn't say it. He didn't say the words, but he ached to say them. He ached for them to be true, even though he'd never fully admitted that to himself before.

"I thought you were married."

Hershel was saying it to Carol. Carol said something to Hershel. It was too low for Daryl to hear it as the blood coursed in his ears. Andrea's hands were on his shoulders—soft and very unlike Rick's had been when he'd pushed Daryl after nearly choking him unconscious from behind. Carol said something to him. She called out his name. It sounded like she wanted him. She wanted him to come to her. He could come to comfort her because she couldn't come to him. Shane was holding her. Lori was holding her. She couldn't come to him.

"Face it," Shane said. "Carol wouldn't marry him. If she had a kid with him, it would be feral. Spitting and fighting like an animal. She's not his daughter."

"Fuck you," Daryl spat. It didn't come out as forcefully as he wanted. He barked much like Andrea was barking as she continued to say things to Shane. "Fuck you," Daryl repeated. "Any of you—all of you—that wouldn't help that lil' girl. I'll do it my own damn self."

Carol called out to him from the porch—a desperate sound almost like a howl. It made his chest constrict and his heart felt like it seized over the sound. One thing they were right about was that she was better where she was at the moment. Sophia was sick. She may be dying. She needed her mother. They wouldn't save the baby, but they'd at least keep Carol near her.

"You're where you need to be, Carol," Daryl called out. He walked off, determined to go to the tent and collect himself so he could figure out what he needed to do. Andrea followed him out to the tent. He could be sure that Dale wasn't too far behind because he could hear him calling out for the blonde.

"What do you want?" Daryl asked.

"Shane shouldn't have said that," Andrea said.

"Yeah, well, he didn't lie," Daryl said.

"I don't think he told the truth, either," Andrea offered.

"Get back to the house 'fore Dale has a stroke," Daryl snarled, lighting a cigarette to help calm his nerves.

"I'll go with you," Andrea said.

"You gonna die yourself if you don't rest," Daryl said. "Won't do none of us no good. Besides—your hackin'll have Walkers all over us."

"You can't go alone," Andrea said.

"I told you! Get your stupid ass back to the farmhouse!" Daryl barked. He stepped forward quickly and rushed her like he would hit her. She surprised him because she stayed where she was. In the darkness, he couldn't be sure if she flinched or not. He softened. His aggression wasn't really meant for Andrea. She didn't deserve it. "Take care of Carol. She's gonna need—she's gonna need somebody just…just right now."

"You can't go alone," Andrea repeated.

"Only damn way I know to do shit anyway," Daryl said.

"Come back?" Andrea asked.

"Take care of Carol?" Daryl asked.

"I will if you will," Andrea said.

"Deal," Daryl said. "Get back now, because I don't know if I'll find enough antibiotics for you, too."

Andrea walked off and Daryl sat down to let his nerves calm and to smoke another cigarette in peace. At the farmhouse, they were dealing with things. Andrea would calm Carol down. Carol would focus on Sophia.

And by the time they all rose, shortly after the sun, they'd find that Daryl was well on his way, due northeast, to a little town called Marion.


	25. Chapter 25

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. If you're interested, I may be able to get another out on this one today. I have most of the day for writing.**

 **If you're wondering about my timeline, I start the class a week from today. I'll be doing some family stuff so I'll be in and out, but I may get to write a bit more before the class.**

 **I thank you so much for your responses to the last chapter! I'm so glad y'all are enjoying this story! I hope you continue to enjoy!**

 **Please let me know what you think!**

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Daryl had done just about every kind of shit job—literal and figurative—under the sun in his lifetime. He usually worked them for short stints. He was there just enough time to pick up a few skills and then to lose the job, or to quit it because it was unbearable, because he was a Dixon and that was just what the hell happened.

One summer when he'd been pretty young, he'd gotten a job at some stables that catered to rich little girls with wealthy, doting parents and elaborate birthday parties. His job had been to muck stalls, groom and feed horses, and saddle the horses for the little girls. He'd been a behind-the-scenes kind of guy that smelled like horseshit most of the day, and he'd hated the job. He'd left it after three months when he had some change in his pocket.

He'd been happy for the skills he learned there when he'd borrowed one of Hershel Greene's horses and saddled it in the barn. He hoped the old man wouldn't mind his borrowing the horse, and he hoped he was able to return it in one piece. The old man had quite a few horses, and Daryl could make better time on the beast's four legs than he could on his own two. The map he'd checked out—since he knew Marion was where he was headed and he could guess at about where the farm was given the exit they'd taken—told him that the trip via the roads was a lot longer than a straight shot through woods, graveyards, farms, or whatever the hell else might stand between him and the little town.

The map didn't do much for Daryl as far as directions went. The compass he had did more for getting him started than the piece of paper did. The most the map did was convince him that he could be back by lunch with a touch of luck.

He got off to a solid start. He was convinced he would make it back early. He'd make it back before they hardly even had time to start to talk about the fact that he'd left. The horse was making good time, the Walkers were very few, and the landscape wasn't too hard to traverse. He was just walking the horse near a ridge, some movement below him having caught his attention, when it all went to hell.

He never saw the snake, but the horse did.

When Daryl woke up the first time, something had been nudging him. Someone had been trying to wake him up. When he'd come into himself, he'd realized that it was a Walker that was just deciding to try to take a bite out of Daryl's boot. Daryl reached around and found his knife. His movements stirred up the Walker, but he was still able to take it out. He was able to take out the second one, too, that came from the side to see what his companion had found to eat.

Just before he passed out again, Daryl realized that, on the way down the ravine, one of the bolts he was carrying to protect himself from the Walkers had gone through his side. In addition, the crossbow on his back had done some damage to his back and his head had clearly made impact with quite a few things. It was better to remain conscious. He might never wake up again if he slipped out of consciousness. He needed to bind his wounds. He knew all these things, but still he slipped out of contact with his reality.

The next time Daryl woke up, he was aware that he wasn't alone, but nobody was chewing on him this time. Instead, when he opened his eyes, they slowly came into focus on the face of his brother as he stood over Daryl.

"Look at'cha rollin' around in the dirt, baby brother," Merle said. "Like a fuckin' pig."

"Merle?" Daryl asked.

Merle laughed.

"You ain't happy to see your big brother?" Merle asked.

"Thought you were dead," Daryl said.

"Here I stand, bigger'n shit," Merle said. "It's you looks like you 'bout to be dead, brother."

"Fell," Daryl said. "Tryin' to get to…town. Gotta get drugs, Merle."

"An' you shamed my ass all those years for the drugs."

"Not like that, Merle. Her kid's sick. Gonna die. Gotta get 'em for her. Pretty lil' girl, Merle. Sweet. Soph."

"You got a thing for lil' girls now, brother?" Merle asked.

"Not like that, Merle," Daryl said. "She's gonna die. Don't deserve that. Her Ma don't deserve that."

"You got a thing for lil' girls' Mas then," Merle said. Daryl didn't answer him. He didn't have to answer him. Merle would know. Daryl knew that Merle would know. He didn't know how he got there, or why he was there, but he knew that Merle would know—even if Daryl had only barely come to know it himself. "You think she's gonna care about you? You think—if you bring these drugs back she's gonna care about you? She ain't never gonna care about you, brother."

"That's what Shane said," Daryl said.

"Shane was right. She ain't never gonna care about you," Merle said.

"She might," Daryl said. "She does. Sleeps real close to me at night. Warm."

Merle laughed.

"She's just usin' you. They're all just usin' you. Real good for what you can do for 'em, but they don't care about you. Ain't nobody ever gonna care about you but me, lil' brother. An' you out here lookin' for drugs for somebody don't care about you an' you left me. Sure didn't look for me."

"I did look for you," Daryl said. "We come back. If you'da stayed."

"They're all laughin' about you right now, brother," Merle said. "You know that, don't'cha? They're all laughin' 'cause you're out here doin' their dirty work. You're out here breakin' your neck an' they're all laughin' at you. She's laughin' loudest of all."

"She ain't," Daryl growled. "She ain't laughin' with them!"

Daryl sat up to shove his brother backward. He sat up to force him to take back his words. He sat up to make him admit that Carol wouldn't laugh at him.

He sat up because it mattered, more than he'd ever realized before, what Carol thought about him—even if he didn't care that much what the others thought.

But Merle was gone. He'd never really been there, of course. Daryl realized that as he came into himself. But Merle was always there in his mind, just like his old man. At least it wasn't Rooster Dixon that had showed up to harass him at the bottom of the ravine.

Daryl made his way down to the water that trickled through the ravine. He didn't care if it was dirty or not. He filled his mouth full several times and spit it out to wash the taste of dirt and blood out of his mouth. Then he drank a little to keep from thirsting to death. He cupped his hands and used the water to wash the wound on his side. He broke the arrow off and pushed it through, biting on a stick he found to try to keep himself from passing out again. He bound the wound and glanced at the sun.

He was losing time. He wouldn't make it back by lunch. That was far too lofty a goal, especially now. He might make it back by dark, though.

If he could ever get out of the ravine.

The first two times he tried to climb, he simply tumbled back to the bottom. He gritted his teeth against the pain of his injuries, though, and tried again.

The third time, Merle showed up.

"Right on time," Daryl growled at him.

Merle laughed at him—always a few feet ahead.

"You ain't never gettin' outta this hole, boy," Merle said. "You gonna die here. Like a dog. An' they ain't nobody gonna come lookin' for you. That lil' girl you so fond of? Mmm hmmm…she's gonna die too, 'cause you couldn't get your sorry ass out a hole."

"She can't die, Merle," Daryl said. "She don't deserve to die."

"Lot'sa damn people die that don't deserve it, boy," Merle said. "You done hangin' onto them roots? You gonna climb out the fuckin' hole or you gonna die here?"

"She needs them drugs," Daryl said.

"You better climb, boy," Merle said. "You don't an' she's gonna die. They gonna let her die. Throw her in a hole somewhere, too, like she don't mean a thing."

"If I just knowed—I wish I knowed she was gonna be OK, Merle," Daryl said, the pain in his chest and throat blending with the pain in the rest of his body.

"Gotta get your ass out the hole or she dies," Merle said. "Don't nothin' else matter. Get out the hole and make sure she lives, boy. Get out the hole an' be your own damn sign if it matters to you."

"What if I can't get out?" Daryl asked. He tried to climb and the dirt under him gave way. He tried to move upward and he slid down. Merle gritted his teeth at him in the angry way he usually did when he was moments before trying to take his baby brother by the scruff and force him into something.

"Hike up your fuckin' skirts, brother, an' climb!" Merle barked. "You don't want that girl to die then you fuckin' climb! You don't an' you die—takin' her right along with you. Gonna be your fault 'cause you pussied out on her!"

Daryl was determined. He wasn't going to let Sophia die. He might not be able to stop it, exactly, but he wasn't going to simply sit back and let it happen. He wasn't going to lie there and die in a hole while he thought about Carol holding her daughter as Sophia let go of the hold her little hands had on this life.

Inch by inch, Daryl found his way over the side of the ravine with his brother barking at him to climb like a drill sergeant. He thanked Merle, too, as he came over the side and settled, face down, in the damp dirt to rest a moment.

But, of course, Merle wasn't there.

He'd left something behind though. He'd been looking out for Daryl.

Daryl heard the nicker of the horse and glanced to see it, some feet away, feeding off a patch of grass it had found. It should have run off. There was no reason that it stayed other than it appeared that the bridle had snagged on a bush and the horse wasn't daring enough to snatch it loose to find its freedom once it had escaped the snake that spooked it.

That wasn't all that Merle left him, though.

Daryl pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He winced at the pain that surged through his body—the pain he'd swallow down to go the rest of the way for the drugs. He wasn't going to let Sophia down. He wasn't going to let Carol down.

And Merle had left him a sign.

Daryl's eyes came into focus on the string of white flowers growing in the abundance of vegetation near him. They were right where Merle was sitting—or at least where Daryl had imagined he was sitting—while he'd been barking at Daryl to man up and crawl out of the hole. Daryl knew what the flowers were for. He knew what they meant.

For what comfort they offered him, Daryl reached up and yanked several of the flowers free. He tucked them into his shirt pocket with his compass. During all of that, he hadn't lost his compass. He opened it up, found that it wasn't broken, and used it to get his bearings.

His gut told him that it hadn't been an accident. He was meant to find the drugs and he would. He'd steer clear of ravines, and he'd give them wide berth on the way to the town and back, but he was meant to find the drugs. He was meant to get them back to Sophia.

And if he got a move on, he could be back before dark.

Daryl patted his pocket where the flowers were nestled in with his compass and he got to his feet. He stumbled over, freed the horse from bush that held him in place, and gave the animal a good talking to about how they had to work together in this. Daryl would keep the beast from getting eaten by Walkers if it were possible, but that would only work if she let Daryl stay with her. There was nothing to save her, after all, except pure damn luck—and maybe Merle—while Daryl had been down in the hole nearly dying.

Finally, feeling a little stronger, Daryl got in the saddle again and steered the horse in the direction of the town, giving wide berth to the ravine.

He had work to do and the day—and Sophia—wouldn't last forever.


	26. Chapter 26

**AN: Here we are, another chapter. (This is the second today, so if you somehow missed the first one, don't forget to go back and read it and, if you get a chance, leave me a little love and motivation!)**

 **I've gotten hooked on this one at the moment, and I'm glad that you all seem to be enjoying. I'm going to see what else I can get out here.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing! Your comments make my day! Let me know what you think of the chapter!**

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Carol was exhausted. She hadn't slept at all the night before. She'd stayed awake, holding Sophia while she slept, while Andrea and Lori kept watch over her. She was aware that they said things to her, but she heard very little of what they said. The words happened like they were outside of her experience—part of another world, even.

Her baby was dying, and Carol wished that she could take her place. She was sure that, if Sophia did leave her, she would simply go with her. Her heart would shatter beyond repair and she would simply follow her daughter.

Of course she wasn't sure that Sophia would die, and Hershel had tried to give her some hope by telling her that, even if Daryl hadn't left the farm to get antibiotics, and even if he didn't return with the medication, Sophia might fight off the infection herself, but Carol still felt hopeless.

So she held her daughter and she nursed her because it seemed that the only thing that brought Sophia any comfort was the medicine that the old man gave her to help soothe her symptoms a little and the time she spent nursing. Carol didn't even pull her away when she was pretty sure that the baby wasn't nursing at all but, rather, was simply sucking on her for the comfort she could find.

The food and water that Carol took in at Andrea's insistence—practically fed to her by the woman's own fingers—was only accepted because Andrea kept reminding her that, without it, she wouldn't be able to produce the milk that made Sophia so happy. She had to take it in for Sophia. It would help her build her strength. It would help her fight the infection.

"This is my fault," Carol said, finally speaking to Andrea when they'd been left alone. Hershel had told her to rest. Lori had to check on her own child which was doing well—her son which would live.

"None of this is your fault," Andrea said. She sat beside Carol on the bed. She touched her shoulder.

"I'm being punished," Carol said. "For hating my husband."

"Anyone would have hated your husband," Andrea said.

"For wanting him dead," Carol said.

Andrea laughed to herself and the laugh brought up the rumbling cough in her chest. Carol frowned at her. Andrea smiled in response.

"Maybe I'm being punished," she offered, "because I wanted him dead, too."

"He was my husband," Carol said.

"He was—horrible," Andrea said. "I'm sorry."

"I was supposed to stand by him," Carol said. "I was supposed to love him."

"Until death do you part," Andrea said. "You did your part. Even if I don't believe in it—at least, if I don't believe in that interpretation of it, you did your part. You stayed with him until he died—miserable and the cause of his own downfall."

"I'm being punished," Carol said. Andrea wiped Carol's face with her fingers. "I hated my husband. I felt bitter because—of Lori. Because of all she had and how…how she was treated…"

"We've all felt bitter because of Lori," Andrea said. "Shit—I'm being punished, too. I'm sorry. I only wanted to lighten the mood. Carol—you're not being punished. You've done nothing wrong."

"What if God takes Sophia away from me?" Carol asked.

Andrea examined the bedspread and shook her head.

"He won't," she said. "I'm sure—he won't. He's not that way, is He? He's not that vengeful. If she goes…and I'm not saying she will…but if she goes…isn't there the belief that it's just how it's supposed to be?"

"This is never how it's supposed to be," Carol said, hugging her sleeping daughter against her chest. "This can't be how it's supposed to be! I can't lose her! I'm never supposed to still be here when she's not…"

"Shhh…" Andrea said, touching Carol's shoulder again. She reached over and brushed her hand over Sophia's hand and touched her cheek. "She's here. She's still here. I think her fever's gone. She's barely warm, Carol."

Carol laughed to herself.

"You don't know how hot she is because you're—you're like a furnace, Andrea," Carol said. "You're burning up."

"Maybe I'll take her place," Andrea offered, touching Sophia's hand again.

"I believe you would," Carol said. "If you could."

Andrea smiled at her.

"I would," she said with sincerity.

"It doesn't work that way," Carol said. "I've offered a hundred times today to take her place and I'm not even warm…"

"How do you know I haven't made the same offer?" Andrea asked, raising her eyebrow at Carol. "How do you know—I didn't get there first?"

Carol dropped her face to brush her lips against the baby's forehead. Maybe she wasn't as warm as she had been. She was sleeping, now. Her breathing was still labored, but she was sleeping. She'd wake again, soon, and whine to be put back on Carol's breast. She'd stay there, more than likely, until she drifted off again.

"What if Daryl never makes it back?" Carol breathed out.

"He'll make it back," Andrea said.

"What if he—just left? What if he left because of Shane?"

"He left," Andrea said. "But it wasn't because of Shane. He'll be back. The only way Daryl isn't coming back…" She hesitated, but Carol heard what she was saying without the words. "It doesn't matter. He's coming back."

"I have to believe you," Carol said. "For Sophia."

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The sun was almost ready to set when they heard the yelling outside.

Sophia was still alive. The medicine that Hershel gave her had soothed her once again, and she slept, sweating in Carol's arms. But she was alive. And every second that Sophia remained alive gave Carol a little more hope.

Hershel came in and out of the room at intervals. Patricia brought cool water and food. Neither of them said much except the encouraging words that everything would be fine and Sophia was strong.

Lori came in and out the room, but she seldom came further than just inside the doorway. Maybe she was afraid of Sophia. Maybe she was afraid of Andrea. Maybe she feared the germs in the room were worse than the ones that were causing what she had—something that seemed only like a dramatic case of allergies.

Maybe she simply didn't know what to say because her son was fine. They had all rallied behind him and he was fine and Carol was holding her daughter and fearing that every raspy breath was her last.

It was only Andrea that stayed with her. Sometimes she tried to offer words of encouragement, but mostly she simply stayed quiet and guarded the semi-sanctity of the room.

The yelling outside made Carol wonder if there were Walkers coming. It made her wonder if they were going to be swallowed up, somehow, by a herd. She rested Sophia on the bed, put pillows on either side of her to be sure that she didn't fall off, even though she'd shown very little interest in movement for some time, and followed Andrea out of the bedroom to see what might be causing so much commotion.

"Get back in the house!" Shane barked as soon as Carol and Andrea stepped out on the porch. Immediately Carol realized his concern was probably over Lori standing on the porch more than it was the two of them.

"What's going on?" Andrea asked, giving voice to what Carol was thinking but hadn't yet managed to say.

It took only a second before Carol saw what was going on. Just at the line of the woods, just coming into the field, was a horse. The horse was slowly sauntering its way toward the house. On the horse's back was a rider that was slumped and practically lying on the saddle. The rider was beyond guiding the horse. It was the horse that was bringing the rider home.

"Daryl," Carol said, more to herself than to anyone else. They were all yelling. Carol didn't know why they were yelling thought. "Don't!" She cried out. "Don't yell! You'll spook the horse! Daryl!"

She bounded off the porch then, but she didn't get far. Arms wrapped roughly around her and she lost her footing as her body was snatched backward while her momentum drove her forward. The only reason that she didn't hit the ground was because the same person that had stopped her held her against him to the point that she couldn't physically fall.

"Daryl!" She called out again. "Let me go!"

"You don't know what's wrong with him!" Shane growled in her ear. "You don't know what's happened!"

It was T-Dog that started across the field toward the horse—hand out like he was requesting that the animal didn't spook. It was Maggie that dropped down off the porch and raced after him calling out what Carol had already said—be careful not to spook the horse. She identified the horse as Nellie, a particularly nervous animal, and T-Dog let her overtake him so that she could catch the reins as a familiar to the horse.

Shane held Carol's arms behind her back to keep her from going toward the horse—saying something about getting trampled or hurt—and only once she howled out in discomfort from the way that he was twisting her shoulder, seemingly unaware of his own strength or the force he seemed to think he needed to put into holding her.

Andrea brought water and Rick joined the others to help Daryl down off the horse. On his back, he was wearing a sack in addition the crossbow and quiver that he normally wore when he went out hunting. When his feet hit the ground, he was instantly awake, even though he'd appeared unconscious on the horse, and he stumbled around like he was drunk before he caught his stride and started back to the house.

As he walked, Rick flanked him. T-Dog walked quickly beside him. Dale tried to catch him, and Andrea tried to offer him the water. He shook them all off like a dog shaking off water.

"Get the hell away from me," Daryl growled. "Don't touch me. Get your damn hands off me!"

Once he'd shed those that surrounded him, whether or not they were trying to help him, he had practically made it to the porch. He stopped right by where Shane was holding Carol.

"Get your hands off her," Daryl said.

Carol's chest ached. She didn't know what had happened to him, but he was filthy and bloody. There was clearly dried blood on his face and his body. He was dirty enough that he was barely recognizable. When he spoke to Shane, it wasn't with the bellowing sound of his words the night before. The words he let out now came out like a slow growl and he held Shane's eyes with his own, ignoring entirely the fac that one of his eyebrows was matted with his own blood.

"Ain't you heard me? I said let go."

Shane did let go of Carol.

"You're hurt," Carol offered, immediately reaching out for Daryl. He shied away from her hands, though, and instead gave her the bag. It was heavy. It was very heavy.

"Didn't know what to get," Daryl said. "Got everything."

"Thank God!" Lori called out from the porch. Daryl immediately swung in her direction.

"You back up!" He barked at her.

"Daryl!" Shane started. Daryl swung back in his direction before he reached an arm out and put it between Carol and Shane to somewhat push Carol behind him.

"You back up, too! All of you! Back the fuck up! I didn't get this for you! Didn't get it for none of you! You wouldn't go out there an' get it. Didn't give a damn about gettin' it. I done it. I got it. It's mine to do with what the hell I please. Mine to give out where I see fuckin' fit. It don't belong to none of ya! An' you don't get a damn bit of it! None of you! I don't give a damn—don't give a damn if you die or not! All of you!"

"Daryl—you're hurt," Rick said. "Your hungry and—you're tired. You don't mean that, brother."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Ain't your brother," Daryl growled. "You lost me my brother. 'Member that? He does. I do. I mean what the hell I said. Back up or I'll back you up! This ain't none of y'all's. It don't belong to none of you!"

"Son—why don't you come inside?" Hershel offered. The old man's tone was gentle and even. He'd appeared from behind them at the porch door. He slowly descended the steps and got near Daryl. "Come on, son, let's go inside. Let's see what you got in the bag."

Carol appreciated Hershel's gentle tone, and maybe Daryl did, too. He didn't remind the old man that he wasn't his son. He didn't bark at him to get away when he neared them, and he didn't say anything when Hershel touched Carol's shoulder first and then Daryl's.

"Got all the 'cillins an' everything else I could find," Daryl said.

Patricia appeared from where Hershel had come and reached her hand out to Carol. She took the bag that Carol was holding and Daryl watched her take it, but he seemed to believe that Patricia could be trusted with his goods.

"You did good," she said, looking into the bag.

"Somethin'—somethin' gonna save Sophia?" Daryl asked.

"You've had quite the bump on the head," Hershel said. "Looks like—a lot's happened out there. Come inside. Let's get you cleaned up and—see what I can do for you."

"Sophia…" Daryl said.

"We'll take care of Sophia, son," Hershel said. "Just—why don't you come inside? We'll take care of Sophia and we'll take care of you. We'll take care of everything."

Daryl followed Hershel and Patricia into the house, and Carol followed him. Everyone who might have had something to say before didn't say anything now. Everyone just stood, silent and frozen in place, as Hershel led them into the farmhouse.

Daryl had made it back, against the odds, perhaps, and he'd brought the medicine. It was his to do with as he pleased, just like he'd said, and Hershel seemed to be upholding that belief.

Sophia would get what she needed, and Carol couldn't recall a time she'd ever felt more grateful or more thankful in her whole life.


	27. Chapter 27

**AN: Third part today, and I might have more in me. I'm at a very compelling (for me) part of the story. It's a part that I've had planned out since the beginning and I'm kind of sucked in. I hope you don't mind! If you've missed the other two parts, don't forget to go back, read them, and offer me some love if you've got the inclination to do so!**

 **Thank you all for your kind words! They mean so much to me! It's so wonderful that you're enjoying this and I'm excited about sharing as much with you as I can before I have to stop!**

 **I hope you enjoy this part! Let me know what you think!**

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At Daryl's bidding, the first thing that Hershel did, after arranging the medications so that he could see what the bag had to offer, was to dose Sophia with something that would help her rest and something that would start to fight the infection. Carol could barely breathe, from happiness and renewed hope this time, when she'd heard Hershel declare that her daughter would feel better by morning, and she'd be healed, more than likely, by the end of the week.

Hershel asked Carol for space and privacy, and Carol had interpreted that at as moving to the chair in the corner of the room with her daughter. She nursed Sophia while Hershel and Patricia cleaned Daryl up and worked on his injuries. She refused to leave him entirely, even though they'd dosed him with something heavy for pain that might render him entirely unaware of her presence. If he was aware of it, though, she wanted him to be able to sense her in the room. She didn't know if it would bring him any comfort at all, but she wanted him to have any comfort that she might possibly be able to give him.

He'd taken quite the hit on the head and he'd cut his head in the process of a fall—at least that's what he'd told them. Hershel had cleaned the wound, sewn it up, and bandaged it. He'd done the same for the wounds on Daryl's side where one of his crossbow arrows had gone completely through his body. Luckily, according to Hershel, it had missed any and all major organs. Then, when his minor surgeries were through, Hershel had dosed Daryl with some of the antibiotics for good measure, and he'd left Patricia to clean all the minor cuts and scrapes while he'd seen to some business elsewhere in his home.

When Patricia had left, Daryl appeared to be sleeping, unaware of what was going on around him. The medication he'd been given, thankfully, had dulled the pain that he had to be experiencing. Patricia offered Carol a soft smile, but she didn't really say anything as she'd taken her things and left the room. Carol sat, though she wasn't sure how long, in the chair and watched Daryl sleep across the room. In her arms, she imagined that Sophia was already breathing better—that she was already sleeping better—even if she knew it was likely only her imagination letting her perceive what she wanted to perceive.

Carol jumped at the knocking on the door. She settled, though, as the door cracked open.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Beth said, peeking her head into the room. She was the youngest of Hershel's daughters—barely more than a child herself—and she was soft spoken and a little skittish. Carol smiled at her.

"You're fine," she said, barely raising her voice above a whisper so as to disturb neither Daryl nor Sophia.

"Ummm—your friend, Lori? She asked me if you could help with dinner," Beth said. "We're a bit short-handed at the moment and…if you weren't busy…"

Carol didn't respond to Beth with the million thoughts that pin-balled through her mind. The young girl didn't need to hear all of them. She was just a little girl, after all.

"I'll be right there," Carol said quietly.

Beth nodded her understanding, glanced around the room, and then she closed the door back. Carol stayed where she was until she heard the click of the door closing entirely and the latch sliding into place. She pulled Sophia against her, kissed the top of her head, and walked over to the bed.

What they'd given Sophia to help her rest had her sleeping solidly. Her tummy was full and she was clean. She'd be satisfied for a while. Carol eased her down on the bed, and then she arranged pillows around her to form barriers so that pillows blocked her from rolling in most directions and Daryl's body blocked her from rolling in the other.

She bumped Daryl, gently and accidentally, as she arranged her daughter to sleep next to him. He jumped, thoroughly startled, it seemed, by the unexpected touch. He rolled his eyes around, noticed her there, and immediately tried to pull his blankets up. Carol smiled to herself. She knew, very well, what he was trying to hide.

There was no need to hide it from her.

"It's OK," she said. She didn't tell him what was OK. She didn't say another word about it. All she did was help him pull the blanket up to cover the bandages and the cruel scars on his back. He tensed, but then he relaxed.

"What you doin'?" He asked.

"Putting Sophia down to rest," Carol said.

"Where you goin'?" Daryl asked.

"I have to help with dinner," Carol said.

"Why can't they handle it?" Daryl asked.

"I guess—they're short-handed," Carol said.

"They'll make do."

"I don't mind."

"Sophia…" Daryl said.

"Is sleeping," Carol said. "Good. She's clean and fed. I thought—maybe she could lay with you. If you don't mind. It'll be more comfortable for her than being in the sling right now."

Daryl reached a hand out and touched the sleeping baby. He caught her tiny hand between his fingers and, for the first time, Carol really noted the difference in size between Sophia's tiny fingers and Daryl's large ones. Her heart clenched in her chest at the feeling that swept over her when she saw how delicately he touched Sophia's hand. She felt the feeling rush through her entire body. It tugged at parts of her that she'd almost given up for dead. She felt her cheeks run warm and she was a little ashamed of herself and her body.

"She'll be safe with me," Daryl offered. The feeling that had washed through Carol surged once more. She felt it in every inch of her body.

"I know she will," Carol breathed out.

She couldn't help it. She might have fought it before, and maybe Daryl would have appreciated if she'd fought it then, but she couldn't stop herself. Carol leaned over Daryl and gently brushed her lips against his temple, just below the bandage that covered over the cut that Hershel had claimed could have taken an eye if he'd been a little less lucky in the fall.

Daryl flinched—jerked, really—at the soft brush of Carol's lips.

"Sorry," Carol breathed out. She hadn't been able to help it, but maybe Daryl hadn't wanted a kiss from her. She swallowed back against the ache that the thought caused her.

"Careful," Daryl said, relaxing again. "I got stitches."

Carol had seen him get the stitches, but maybe he hadn't realized she was in the room. She straightened up and rearranged his blanket once more.

"There's—something I have to tell you," Carol said. "Something you've got to know."

Daryl rolled enough to glance at her and then he looked back at Sophia—back away from Carol. He hummed at her in question.

"I can never thank you for what you did for me today," Carol said. "What you did for Sophia."

"She was sick," Daryl said.

Carol smiled to herself. She hummed in the affirmative.

"You did more for Sophia today than her daddy would have done for her in his whole life if he'd lived," Carol said. "He never would've…"

"Old man," Daryl said.

"I'm sorry?" Carol responded.

Daryl rolled to look at her.

"Old man," Daryl said. "I hated—when my old man would call himself my daddy. He was my old man. But he weren't my daddy. If—if what I done, he wouldn't do? Sorry to say it, but he was just her old man."

"You're right," Carol said. Her throat ached and she pretended that she wasn't struggling against the tears that wanted to form in her eyes. "He was."

"I ain't even nothin' to her," Daryl mused, rubbing the baby's hand gently between his fingers.

"Oh—I wouldn't say that," Carol said. "You're…" She paused. She wanted to say so much. She felt so many things that she felt forbidden to feel. She felt, at that moment, so many thoughts burning in her mind and in her body that she could barely sort them out—and most of them would require her putting words in Daryl's mouth and thoughts in his mind that he probably didn't have.

"You heard Shane," Daryl said. "Everybody did."

"Shane's an asshole," Carol said. "You're—at the very least? You're her guardian angel, Daryl. You saved her life. If it weren't for you…" She broke off, sure that she couldn't continue. She broke off because she was sure that if she kept going, she'd say something that would embarrass her. She'd say something that might very well drive Daryl away.

Everything within her might be crying out for something more at the moment, but she certainly didn't want to risk the friendship that she shared with Daryl. She valued it far too much.

"Shane's an asshole," Carol repeated, barely breathing out the words.

"He was a cop," Daryl said. "Him an' Rick."

"So?" Carol said. She started to touch him again. She started to stroke his shoulder. She had no idea why the urge simply bubbled up inside her, but she fought it. She drew her hand back. He never knew what she was thinking of doing. He'd never seen her make the movement and she covered any movement that he might have sensed by brushing the blanket like she was smoothing out a wrinkle.

"You should know, Daryl, that…no matter what they say? No matter what anybody says? You're every bit as good as Rick or Shane. Every bit. Better—from where I'm standing."

Daryl hummed at her, but he didn't' say anything. He didn't believe her. Carol could tell that, and it made her heart ache that he thought so little of himself. It made her heart ache that someone had taught him to think so little of himself and that others reinforced it.

She thought so much of him that she couldn't begin to put it all into words. She thought so much of him, then—at that very moment—that she could barely contain it. It made her feel like her heart might burst in her chest just to try to hold it all inside. She wanted to tell him everything she thought and everything she felt—even things she was barely comfortable admitting to herself.

She wanted him to see himself the way that she saw him. She wanted him to understand that, in her eyes, he was a hero. He was the greatest hero that there had ever been. He was the only real hero that she'd ever seen with her own eyes.

There was no man that could hold a candle to him—and certainly not the men that surrounded her that would have simply sat idly by and watched her hold her baby while she drew her final breaths.

But she couldn't tell him all of that because he probably didn't want to hear it from her. He probably wouldn't believe her, and he probably didn't want the likes of her thinking those kinds of things about him.

Even if she didn't say it, though, she was still going to feel it.

The only thing that she could do, then was to lean down and brush her lips against his temple once more. This time, he didn't flinch. He didn't pull away. He didn't remind her of the stitches that she hadn't even gotten close to touching.

He simply closed his eyes and cuddled the pillow, rubbing his face against it.

Carol smiled to herself.

"I'll be back if she needs anything," Carol said. "But there's a bell here if you need anyone before that. I'll bring dinner for you when it's done." Daryl hummed his understanding. Carol fixed his blanket once more and no longer lied to herself. She knew that it was just a reason to be near him again. It was just a reason to touch him one more time. He didn't tell her to stop. He didn't pull away. "Sweet dreams," Carol offered, lowering her voice. "To both of you."


	28. Chapter 28

**AN: Here we are, the fourth part today (I believe). As I've said before, if you've missed the others, please make sure you go back and read all the parts! Don't forget to show me some love if you feel so inclined. I have appreciated, so much, your feedback so far!**

 **I'll write what I can in the coming days. There's so much to happen that I'm excited about sharing! We do have some group interaction coming up that will further the storyline.**

 **I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

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"Can I sleep with you?" Carol asked. She was already halfway in the bed and halfway under the cover when Daryl woke up to the feeling of her shifting the mattress.

"Where you been?" He asked. Carol took that as an invitation to climb the rest of the way into the bed. He didn't object to her sharing the room or the bed.

"I helped clean up," Carol said. "We can't take advantage of Hershel's hospitality and good nature by dirtying up his whole house and then leaving it that way."

"You the only one around here got thumbs?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself, but she didn't respond. She'd already changed Sophia's diaper without disturbing Daryl or the baby, and she'd assured herself that the baby was sleeping peacefully. Sophia was sleeping, at the moment, with her mouth open. She was lost in complete abandon between the two of them.

Daryl was looking at Carol over Sophia and it sent a shiver up her spine to have him looking at her so intently. She decided, though, that he was simply looking at Sophia and she was imagining herself in his line of sight.

"Hershel wants to keep you dosed on pain medication and antibiotics for a couple of days," Carol said.

"Don't want it," he said. "Give it to Soph."

"There's enough for both of you," Carol said. "He wants you to take it easy. Don't hurt yourself. I don't think he's asking as much as he's telling. I think you should take what he gives you. It'll be good for you."

"He give you a good dose of them antibiotics too, didn't he?"

"Just like you asked," Carol assured him, but I think I'll be fine. I really don't feel any worse than I have with any cold. "If there's some to go around…"

"I said my peace on it," Daryl said. "Greedy assholes…"

Carol dropped it. There was time to bring it up again, but she could tell immediately that Daryl wasn't in good spirits and he didn't want to talk about sharing the antibiotics. She would wait until he'd rested a bit more.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "I brought you clean clothes for—for when Hershel says you can get up and get around."

"You ain't throwed out my stuff," Daryl said.

It was neither question nor statement, so Carol decided to take it as a question. She hummed in the negative.

"I cleaned your pockets out," Carol said. "I can't mend the shirt, though."

"Rag," Daryl said.

"It is now," Carol said. "I'm sorry. But—you had a few more."

"Ain't worried about it," Daryl said.

"I cleaned the pockets out, though," Carol said.

"Got my lighter? Cigarettes?"

"Everything you had in there. He said you can smoke in the room as long as you open that window and sit in the windowsill. I put everything of yours over there. Daryl—there were even some…well…some flowers in your pocket." She laughed to herself at the absurdity she'd felt pulling crumpled and half-destroyed flowers out of Daryl's pocket. They'd seemed so out of place, and they were all but dead, but she'd still put them on the dresser because she didn't want to throw away anything that had any meaning to him.

"You threw 'em away?" Daryl asked.

"They're over there," Carol said. "I'm afraid—they were dead when I found them. You want them?"

He hummed at her in the affirmative and made like he might sit up. Carol waved him back down. She slipped out of the bed and padded across the room in her bare feet to retrieve the flowers. She came back and offered the crumpled plants to Daryl.

He looked at them. He turned them over in his hand.

"He put 'em there," Daryl said.

"What?" Carol asked.

"Nothin'," Daryl said. "It's a Cherokee Rose." He offered the half-destroyed flowers to Carol. She took them to humor him, mindful at the moment of the heavy medication that Hershel had given him. "The story is that when American soldiers were moving Indians off their land on the Trail of Tears, the Cherokee mothers were grievin' an' cryin' so much 'cause they were losin' their little ones along the way from exposure and disease and starvation. A lot of them just disappeared. So the elders, they said a prayer; asked for a sign to uplift the mothers' spirits, give them strength and hope. The next day this rose started to grow where the mothers' tears fell."

Carol swallowed against the lump in her throat. She touched the soft petals of the dying flowers.

"That's beautiful," she breathed out.

"Found those today," Daryl said. "Comin' out that ravine. Just—wanted a sign that I was gonna find what I needed to find. Gonna get back here. That she was gonna make it. I weren't givin'—I weren't givin' you no false hope. Look—I'm not fool enough to think there's any flowers blooming for my brother. But I believe this one bloomed for Sophia. It bloomed to say—she's gonna be alright. She's gonna pull through this. Through this whole damn world, maybe. So you don't gotta cry for her."

"Thank you," Carol said. "They're beautiful."

"They're dead," Daryl said. "I crushed 'em."

Carol swallowed and nodded her head.

"You crushed them because—you were busy saving my baby," Carol said. "You were busy—giving me hope."

"Just a silly story," Daryl said as though he immediately felt the need to draw attention away from it and dismiss something that he clearly believed in.

"No," Carol said. "No, it's not. Thank you. You should—get some sleep."

Daryl didn't respond to her, and Carol didn't force any such response from him. She put the crumpled flowers on the nightstand beside the bed and she blew out the lamp. She moved her hand over and rested it over Sophia's body, lightly touching her chest to feel the sensation of her breathing as it came deeper and easier than it had even hours before.

While she lay there, Carol felt the warm sensation of Daryl's hand covering hers. He was seeking the same thing. He wanted reassurance that Sophia was resting and healing. He let his hand rest over Carol's for only a moment before he apparently realized he was touching Carol's fingers and not Sophia's chest, and he pulled his hand back. Regardless, Carol knew that his hand had been there, and part of her wished that he'd left it.

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Carol stuck close to Daryl in the days to come. He rested and healed in the little room, and he didn't complain when Carol slept next to him in the bed with Sophia between them. The first night after he returned with the medication, Carol slept more soundly than she expected to sleep. The second night, she slept even more profoundly. The following morning, she was pleased to be awoken by the sounds of her daughter babbling at her, happily, while she pushed against her like she might use her for something to stand with in the bed.

Carol smiled and reached a hand out to brush it over Sophia's hair. The baby's hair went in every direction because she'd sweated several times as her body fought the fever, and she'd slept on it a great deal.

Sophia squawked at Carol and, realizing she was awake, started to threaten fussing. Carol moved around enough to raise the shirt she was wearing so she could bare the breast closest to Sophia and, without having to even direct the baby, Sophia changed her position so that she could comfortably nurse.

"She sure knows what the hell she wants," Daryl said.

Carol jumped. Her movement disturbed Sophia, and she dropped her latch to stare at Carol in shock, but it didn't take her long to settle back down.

"I didn't realize you were awake," Carol said.

"Been restin' my eyes," Daryl said.

"I'm sorry," Carol said. "I didn't mean…"

She started to scramble to try to cover herself and Sophia. Daryl laughed to himself and sat up.

"Ain't like I ain't seen you feed her before," Daryl said. "Gotta eat. Glad she's feelin' good enough to ask for it like that insteada whinin' for it all pitiful like she's been doin'."

"She feels better," Carol said. She brushed her hand over Sophia's head again while she nursed. "Because of you."

Daryl glanced at her, but he quickly averted his eyes. Carol knew that he always got a little jumpy when she fed Sophia. He didn't want her to stop. He never asked her to stop. But it was clear that he wasn't sure where to look, and even though she'd told him that he didn't make her uncomfortable, it was clear that he was worried he did.

"Gotta get out this fuckin' bed," Daryl said. He groaned, shifting around to do just what he said he needed to do. "Lay down so long I'm stiff. Damn near growed to the mattress."

He'd only been up to smoke at the window a few times and to go to the bathroom in the small bathroom connected to the bedroom. Neither of those things had he done more often than he deemed necessary, either.

"You need to be careful," Carol said. "Those stitches in your side need to heal."

"I hear ya," Daryl confirmed.

As he started to get up, Daryl seemed to realize that he was without too many articles of clothing. Carol saw the moment that he realized how little he was wearing and tried to work out for himself how he would get to the clean clothes that she'd brought for him. Carol laughed to herself. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him without much on. They'd been practical bunkmates for a while, but she put her hand over her eyes for his benefit anyway.

"I put your clean clothes on the chair," Carol said. "I'm not looking."

Daryl grumbled something that Carol couldn't understand. He got up, though, and went for the clothes in question. She listened to him as he dressed. She waited until she was sure that he'd had time to get into his clothes, and Sophia was done with enough of her breakfast not to fuss, and then she reached over the side of the bed and dragged her pants under the cover to pull them on. When she glanced in his direction, Daryl was watching her, but he didn't say anything.

Instead, he came to rescue Sophia when she started crawling in his direction like she might crawl right off the side of the bed.

"Don't!" Carol barked, reaching a hand out and catching Sophia's leg to stop her forward progress. "Your stitches. You don't know how much weight you can pick up. You don't want to bust them."

"Sophia don't weigh nothin'," Daryl protested.

"Until you ask Hershel," Carol said, "I think it's better to wait."

Daryl didn't have time to argue and Carol didn't have time to offer anything else in the way of insistence that Daryl not pick up Sophia. There was a knock at the door that nearly interrupted the last words out of her mouth. Immediately following the knock at the door, the door cracked open and, slowly, Hershel's head appeared.

"My apologies if I was interrupting anything," Hershel said.

"Nothing," Carol said. "We were just—getting dressed. Daryl wants to be out of bed."

"That's fine," Hershel said. "Just—take it easy."

"Can I carry Sophia?" Daryl asked.

"What?" Hershel asked.

"She weigh too much?" Daryl asked. "Or can I carry her?"

"I think—she would be fine," Hershel said. "But mostly I would tell you to listen to your body."

"Don't she look good?" Daryl asked. He took that as his invitation to pick Sophia up, so he rescued her from the bed and Carol let him take her and hold her against him. He offered her in Hershel's direction for the old man to inspect her.

Hershel reached a hand out and touched Sophia's face and neck. For his efforts, she tried to lick him and he laughed to himself before he ruffled her hair.

"She looks like she's on the mend," Hershel said.

"How many more days she gotta take them antibiotics?" Daryl asked.

"I'd finish the week," Hershel said. "If they hold out. I think I've got them pretty well rationed for her to finish a good course of them and for you and Carol to have some like you asked."

"Rationed?" Carol asked.

"Daryl cleaned out two offices and the school," Hershel said, "but it would appear that antibiotics weren't what they had in bulk. Besides that—the dosage is good bit different when we're talking about humans, even small ones."

"But there's enough?" Carol asked.

"There's plenty," Hershel said. "And a little leftover besides…if you wanted to offer it around to those who are not feeling their best."

"I told you," Daryl said. "They took everything I had before. I give 'em all that. I'm under no obligation to give 'em this, too."

"I understand, son," Hershel said. "And I wouldn't say anything if I didn't think—you were possibly making a choice between life and death. I've done what I can do, but without your permission to use the extra antibiotics…"

"The ones you ain't set aside for Sophia," Daryl said.

"The ones not set aside for anybody in this room," Hershel said. "Without your permission to use those, I'm afraid that I'm down to—just giving pain medication to make her comfortable."

Carol's chest tightened quickly at the thought of losing someone. Losing anyone seemed cruel.

"Lori seemed fine last night," Carol said.

"Lori's fine," Hershel said. "She's got a cold. Nothing more. It doesn't seem to be turning feverish. But—I'm afraid that Andrea isn't faring as well. Daryl—if I could just have a word with you?"


	29. Chapter 29

**AN: I had a few minutes, so there's this.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol followed Daryl only because he asked her to come with him. Sophia was safe, for the moment, with Patricia, and Carol was confident that the woman—doting on the little girl as she would—would more than meet Sophia's needs in her brief absence.

When they got to the RV, Dale met them like a gatekeeper. Carol half expected him to ask them for a password.

"Where is she?" Daryl asked, holding onto the door of the RV the moment it was opened.

"In the back," Dale said. "Daryl…"

"Man, go take a walk or—get a glass of water or a shower…somethin'," Daryl offered, cutting the old man off before he could launch into any kind of speech. "You ain't no good to her or nobody else if you don't take care of you. Eat. Sleep, even. If she's set to depart from this world, we'll let you know."

Dale opened his mouth to protest Daryl's choice of words, perhaps, but then he seemed to think better about it. Maybe he simply lacked the strength to say anything. He let out the breath that would have been used with the words as a sigh, hung his head, and shook it before he pushed past Daryl and Carol and headed for the farmhouse.

"He doesn't look good," Carol offered quietly.

"Who the hell does around here?" Daryl asked. Carol could feel it was rhetorical, so she didn't bother answering.

The RV was fairly bright since Dale had all the windows open in an effort to let in sunlight and fresh air. They made their way to the back of the RV where there was a solitary bedroom. Carol let Daryl step through first, and she crowded in behind him in the tight space.

Andrea was in the bed, but she wasn't asleep. She opened her eyes and looked at the both of them when they entered. She offered them what might have been the start of a smile, but it was interrupted with a coughing fit that sent her scrambling for a handkerchief she'd lost in the blankets.

Carol immediately understood why Dale would protest what Daryl had said. Andrea looked like she might very well be on her way, very shortly, to whatever world she might be destined for after this one. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face was red from the efforts of her hacking cough, and it was clear that she was sweating to the point of being visibly damp. Her hair stuck to the sweat on her face, but it was clear that she was reluctant to give up the blanket that she was using to warm her against the internal chill she must feel.

When the coughing fit was over, she dropped back on the pillow.

"Hershel said Sophia's OK," Andrea said.

"She's gonna be fine," Daryl offered. Carol leaned back against the wall. She was there, essentially, for support if Daryl needed it. She was leaving things to Daryl unless he asked her to do otherwise.

Andrea smiled.

"Good," she said.

"What about you?" Daryl asked. "You look like shit."

Andrea laughed quietly and the laugh stirred up another of the coughing fits, though this one wasn't as dramatic as the one before.

"I look as good as I feel, then," she said. "Maybe better."

"Carol was—she was tellin' me that…uh…that'cha had plans. We find us a place. Find us the rest of the people out there in the world. She tells me that you was plannin' on settlin' down. Havin' a nice lil' family. Couple kids." Andrea hummed at him, but she didn't fully acknowledge his words. "We gonna need kids. Build the world back up right. She figures—you'll be a real good Ma to 'em." Andrea hummed again.

"I think—maybe someone else is going to have to do that for me," Andrea offered.

"I just want you to answer me one question," Daryl said. He took Andrea's silence as confirmation that she would do so. "You decided yet if you want to live? Or is this some kinda blessin' to you? An easy way out?"

Andrea laughed to herself.

"If I was choosing an easy way out, this wouldn't be it," Andrea said. "But there's nobody to speed it up. Hershel won't do it. Dale can't. Glenn's gone…"

"Where's Glenn gone?" Daryl asked. Carol was surprised to hear, too, that Glenn was missing from the farm. They'd been closed up in the bedroom for the better part of their time, though, and had missed any happenings that had taken place.

"Town," Andrea said. "For supplies."

"Medicine for you?" Carol asked.

"Can't be," Daryl said. "Everywhere that's easy to get to is out, and I can't imagine Glenn goin' even further than I went."

"I heard Hershel talking to Dale," Andrea said. "Something—Lori or Rick or something…needed things. Hershel's daughter went with him."

"That ain't important anyway," Daryl said. "And you ain't answered my question. You wanna die or you wanna…get on with your plan for livin' your life?"

"I liked the idea of the life that Carol designed for me," Andrea said, smiling to herself. She shook her head. "But—I don't really think it's up to me anymore."

"So you wanna live?" Daryl asked. "Because—if you was to kill yourself? Lie to me to—kill yourself? I'd figure out how to bring you back so—so I could kill you myself…you understand? So you tell me the truth. You wanna live?"

Carol understood very well that Daryl's threat wasn't an actual threat toward Andrea. He'd drawn close to her and the way he was looking at her spoke volumes. There was an affection there. It was clear that he knew what he wanted her to say. He wanted her to say that she wanted to live. But, more than he wanted her to say that, he wanted her to mean it.

Andrea coughed into her handkerchief again and, Daryl offered her a glass of water that was waiting nearby for her to drink it. She greedily accepted the water when the glass was placed to her lips—Daryl's hand cupped underneath her chin to catch what ran down her face—and Carol wondered if she simply hadn't felt strong enough to drink it and, instead, had been simply looking at it with fevered thirst.

"Yes," Andrea said when Daryl rationed her by taking the glass away.

"Yeah you want more water?" Daryl asked.

"Yes—I want to live," Andrea said. "I want—a chance at that life. If it's out there."

Daryl put the glass down and pulled the bottle from his jacket that Hershel had given him. The measurements were easy to get right on the dropper, and Carol assumed that was why Hershel had given him that bottle and sent him in to see Andrea. He measured out the right amount of liquid according to Hershel's instructions.

"Then you swallow this. Don't'cha cough it out or spit it out or…whatever."

"No," Andrea said, turning her face to refuse the medicine.

"Yes," Daryl said. He offered the dropper to her.

"Sophia…"

"Has her own stash," Daryl said. "Me an' Carol too. This is…it's what we got left. What's leftover. Oughta be enough to—well, if it don't heal you, it oughta give your immune system a fightin' chance to get you the rest of the way."

Andrea might have argued with Daryl further, but when she opened her mouth to do so, he treated her much like Hershel treated Sophia. He seized the opportunity to introduce the dropper into her mouth. Andrea accepted his gesture for what it was and swallowed down what he gave her.

"Someone else might need it more," she offered.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You about—a day or so from bein' in the ground," Daryl said. "There ain't a damned soul needs it more that ain't already accounted for."

"Thank you," Andrea offered.

Daryl seemed physically uncomfortable with the thanks. He nodded.

"Thank me by—livin' that life you was talkin' about," Daryl said. "Stop runnin' Dale crazy thinkin' you gonna…ya know."

"I'll name the first of—the first of those babies after you," Andrea teased, smirking at Daryl. He smiled in response, though.

"Long as it's a boy," he said.

"What do you mean?" Andrea asked. "I think—Darylina is a precious name."

Daryl raised his eyebrows at her.

"What makes you say that?" He asked.

"What?" Andrea asked furrowing her brows.

"Darylina," Daryl said. "What—where'd you get that?"

"Just—teasing," Andrea said. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Nothin'," Daryl said quickly. "Nothin'. Just—heard it before. Somewhere. Someone—someone used to say it. Shit—get some sleep. We'll tell Dale. That fever oughta break soon. Be back in a couple hours to give you more."

Carol quickly stepped forward to quietly offer Andrea more of the water, remembering how thirsty she seemed to have been, and then she brushed the woman's hair back from her face before she rearranged the blanket that was practically damp with sweat.

There wasn't much more to be said, though, and Andrea really needed quiet more than she needed conversation. Daryl led the way out of the RV and Carol followed him.

"That was nice of you," Carol said as soon as they were clear of the RV. Daryl immediately started walking toward the farmhouse, and Carol stayed close behind him.

"She shouldn't die," Daryl said. "Like you said—she's got potential for a long life. A decent one, at least."

"And she can repopulate the Earth," Carol offered with a laugh.

Daryl stopped his forward progress.

"Shouldn't have said that?" He asked. "You said she wanted kids…"

"She said she did," Carol said. "I don't think she was offended, Daryl."

"World's gonna need kids," Daryl said. "If so many people's dead. Soph—she ain't gonna wanna grow up alone."

Carol smiled at him.

"I hope she doesn't grow up alone," Carol said. "And I meant what I said. It was nice of you to do that for Andrea. You care about her."

Daryl raised his thumb to his mouth and gnawed at his cuticle.

"Been through a lot," Daryl said.

"We all have," Carol said. Daryl hummed and nodded his head. Carol felt her stomach churn. There was no need for the squeezing sensation that she felt in her gut, but it was there, just the same. "Can I—Daryl—can I ask you something?"

Carol felt her pulse pick up at the thought of asking him what her brain offered to her. He furrowed his brow at her. Maybe he was stirred up, momentarily by her facial expression. Maybe it was the fact that she'd dropped the volume of her voice and quickly glanced around to make sure that they were alone, even though they were in the yard of the farmhouse. He glanced around, as well, to check their surroundings. He never told her, verbally, that she could ask her question, but he nodded his head. He almost seemed as nervous about hearing the question as she felt about asking it.

"It's none of my business, really," Carol offered. "And—if you don't want to answer it…"

"You gonna ask it, or you ain't?" Daryl asked. There was a bit of bite behind the words, but Carol accepted it and chocked it up to the anxiety that his face said he was feeling.

"Do you like Andrea?" Carol asked.

Daryl's shoulders drooped with relief. He laughed to himself.

"Yeah," he said. "I mean—don't you? She ain't done nothin' to nobody except—mighta aged Dale a couple years."

"No," Carol said. "I mean—do you like Andrea?" Daryl furrowed his brow at her. "Like—well…more than as a friend?"

"You mean like—like Rick an' Shane like Lori? That kinda like?" Daryl asked. Carol nodded her head. Daryl continued to stare at her with a furrowed brow for a moment. He gnawed his cuticle and looked at her like he was taking in absolutely ever inch of her face—like he might remember each freckle that spotted her skin or all the little knick-sized scars that she'd earned one way or another. "I like her. Like a friend. I don't wanna see her die. Her sister died an' she took it hard. I understand. I lost my brother. Kinda makes me think…well…that maybe we got somethin' in common."

Carol sucked in a breath. The increasing tightness in her stomach and chest suddenly released without warning. She had no right, really, to care what Daryl thought of anyone. She had no right to question who he liked or what the nature of his relationships were.

But she was relieved to hear how he felt about Andrea, even if she had no right to be.

"That's—all?" Carol asked.

"What more you want there to be?" Daryl asked. "You—wantin' me to…to like her more'n that?"

"No," Carol said quickly. "No—I don't want you to…do anything that you don't want to do. I don't want you to feel…about anyone…any way that you don't feel."

"Good," Daryl said. He stared at her a moment more, as intently has he had before, and Carol thought he might say something else. "That's all?" He asked.

"What do you mean?" Carol asked.

"That'cha—that'cha wanted to ask me?" Daryl asked.

Carol's chest clenched. She crossed her arms across her chest.

"What—else would you…would you want me to ask?" Carol asked.

Daryl simply stared at her, again, in response. He started like he would speak, but he didn't say anything. Carol let the silence hang between them to give him the chance to get around to saying whatever he was chewing on. When he did speak, though, he was already turning to resume the course on which he'd been when they left the RV. "Gotta tell Hershel she took it. He'll wanna dose her again later."

Carol stood where she was a moment, arms crossed across her chest, and watched him go. She watched the stiffness in his movement that slowly gave way as he relaxed into his steps. She wondered what he might have said if he hadn't opted to leave whatever it was unsaid and, instead, to tell her something she'd already know about Hershel.

Daryl stopped abruptly, turned back, furrowed his brow at her.

"Well?" He asked. "You comin'?"

Carol smiled to herself and nodded. Oddly enough, just the expectation that she would follow him into the farmhouse unknotted some of the tangles that felt like they'd formed in her core muscles.

"Yeah," she said, picking up her steps. "I'm right behind you."


	30. Chapter 30

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I'll be in and out for a while, writing when I can. I hope to have a little more time today.**

 **I hope that you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol dragged the contents of the tent out and shook everything before she neatly put it back. Sophia played with a few toys and crawled around on a blanket that had been spread out for her nearby. She happily barked at Carol and anything that caught her attention. When Carol acknowledged her with a simple "hey baby" or anything of the sort, Sophia would stop what she was doing, sit back on her bottom, and grin happily at being paid attention.

She was a living example of the fact that babies could be counted on to be resilient. She was back to her old self to the point that Carol might have believed—if her heart didn't still ache from it and her mind didn't still wake her with nightmares—that Sophia had never been deathly sick to begin with. Andrea, on the other hand, was proof that the virus, or whatever it had been, had swept through their little group. It had been a few days since she'd started the medication that Daryl had offered her and, though it had snatched her back from the absolute brink of death, she still looked frail when she stepped outside the RV to take in sunlight and breathe fresh air.

At least she was capable of breathing it, though, and at least it seemed like the worst of that was behind them. They suspected, without any reason to do so, that there might be any number of illnesses simply travelling in the wind. The world belonged to the dead now, after all, and there was no way of knowing exactly how that might impact the living.

Carol preferred the fresh air, really, to the stale air of the farmhouse. Even with the windows open, it seemed impossible to really air the old house out. It was stifling at times.

On top of that, she felt like she was constantly being watched. She felt like she wasn't welcome there. She felt like she needed to answer the question of how long she expected to be there and when she thought she might leave.

And it wasn't Hershel that watched her that way. The farmer, really, seemed to be settling into the idea that they might stay. He hadn't said as much yet, and Carol certainly wouldn't push him and hoped that nobody else would either, but he seemed satisfied. He'd stopped reminding them that they were going to leave. He stopped asking them when they planned to go.

He had even asked to hold Sophia, once or twice, when he wasn't examining her. Carol had let him take her to the rocking chairs on the front porch to sit with him and enjoy the breeze.

It wasn't Hershel that made Carol feel like she wasn't welcome in the house with Sophia—it was the mention from others that Sophia must be feeling better because she was louder than she had been when she'd been sick. Daryl had pointed out, just that morning when Shane had made such a remark, that it had been difficult for Sophia to act like any normal baby when she'd been dying from the crud, and he'd done it in such a way that Carol had thought it might be better to put a little distance between Daryl and Shane.

Hershel seemed content enough, at the moment, to let them stay there, but that wouldn't last if Daryl and Shane were to tangle up and start fighting.

So, Daryl was out hunting nearby for the group and Carol was shaking out the contents of the tent that they had shared before to make sure that nothing creepy and crawly had made a home among the blankets while Sophia had been on the mend.

Carol tucked the blankets and other items back inside the tent. Most of the belongings that they had were being stored in Daryl's old tent to make more room for sleeping in the one they shared.

It felt strange to Carol that she would just assume that Daryl—who had been staying in the bedroom in the farmhouse with she and Sophia—would return to the tent with them. Without speaking about it, Carol had simply assumed that he would want to go where she was. He would want to share the tent instead of remaining inside the somewhat overcrowded house.

And it struck her, as she tucked his favorite poncho into the tent, neatly folded for when he would want it next, that, perhaps, she needed to speak to him about her expectations. Perhaps she needed to find out if she was out of line for having them.

She feared saying or doing anything that would put distance between them, but part of her needed to know.

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Daryl had barely gotten in from hunting, dressed the meat, and started to skin it—meat which Carol would prepare for their evening meal in Hershel's kitchen and with the old man's blessing and thanks—when he was snatched away by Rick and Shane.

Carol already knew what they were going to talk about. The discussion had eaten up the better part of the morning for those involved—namely Hershel and his oldest daughter, Glenn, Rick, Shane, and Lori. Some of the discussion had been heated, and some of it, when it had drifted out to meet Carol as she moved, practically invisible, from chore to chore, had made Carol's stomach clench with uncertainty about their future.

For whatever reason, though, nobody thought they should bring it directly to Carol's attention. Neither she nor any of the others needed to be informed until a decision had been made. Maybe their opinions simply didn't matter. Carol had kept quiet, though, and waited to see how things might unfold.

Daryl had barely gotten back before they'd tried to quietly lead him away and, whether or not it was her place at all, Carol had left her work of hanging sheets to dry and had followed to see what might be said.

The tension was palpable and Carol hugged Sophia to her and kept a bit of distance from the center of things. When she walked up, Carol could tell that Daryl had already been quickly briefed on things and was taking in what he'd been told. She caught a few glances from Rick, Shane, and Glenn as they were gathered there, but nobody said anything about her presence.

Glenn had found the problem last night.

The farm sat on a sprawling spread of acres of land. It boasted close proximity to woods and creeks. It had underground wells and good soil. There was livestock that, if cared for, would continue to reproduce. There were horse barns, storage barns, barns for equipment, and a few barns for crop storage in various shapes and styles that dotted the land that Hershel Greene could count as his own. For that reason, after all, they hoped that they could stay long enough to convince the old man that he'd like to live in a community—and then they might build something of a collection of small homes on the unused portions of the land to create a truly comfortable home for them all.

One of the barns was tucked somewhat back and away from the house. It was a regular old barn—not that much different than others on the property—and nobody paid it much attention. It was a bit of a hike from wherever they were to get to the barn, so there was no need to go out there.

But, apparently, Glenn had a need to go out to the old barn the night before. What he'd found when he'd gotten there had surprised and horrified him.

The old barn was full of Walkers that were chained inside to roam around the enclosed space. Carol had heard the wafting notes of discontent that had been expressed already. She'd heard the different sides that people were on. She'd heard Hershel's explanation and his final word on it all—it was his farm, and they were squatters. If they wanted to leave, the gate had been oiled recently enough that he was almost certain it would still open to allow them to go—and they should be sure to close it upon their departure.

And now Daryl knew.

The presence of the Walkers made Shane angry. It made him visibly volatile. In addition to whatever had him stirred up before Daryl had even left to go hunting, the presence of the Walkers had elevated him to a status of bothered that had Carol careful to keep her distance and to keep her position somewhat behind Daryl. Shane was practically caging.

And Carol could see, from the way that everyone else was watching him, that they saw it, too.

"We have to tell everyone," Glenn said.

"We'll tell everyone," Rick said. "Make sure that everyone's aware. That they're careful."

"Man, how are you gonna be careful when there's a barn full of those things a few feet from where you're living? Where you're sleeping at night? Where Lori and Carl are sleeping?" Shane bellowed out his words. He was loud enough that Carol regretted having brought Sophia with her because, even though her daughter had been contently wrapped against her chest while she'd been hanging sheets, she started to fuss at the unnecessarily loud and angry words that escaped Shane. "We gotta clear 'em out!"

"You heard Hershel," Rick said. "He believes they're sick. He believes they can be cured. He's not ready to give up on them."

"So we do it anyway!" Shane barked. "What the hell is the old man going to do?"

"This is his land. It's his land and his house and his damn barn full of Walkers," Daryl said. "You can't just bust the damn door down an' do whatever the hell you want and to hell with what he says."

"So we leave!" Shane insisted. "We pack everything up and we leave. We get away from the crazy old asshole and his crazy ass family!"

"And go where?" Daryl asked. "Back out there? Talk about jumpin' from the fuckin' fryin' pan into the fire."

There was bite in Daryl's comment and it apparently caught Shane wrong. Until then, he'd been caging like he might lash out at anyone present. As soon as Daryl made the comment, though, his attention focused solely on Daryl.

"So you wanna just stay here?" Shane asked. "Sleep knowing those things are right on top of you?"

Carol caught that Rick was staring hard at Daryl. She'd already heard Rick and Shane fighting. Rick wanted to stay. He wanted to at least consider alternatives to leaving. He wanted something that would make everyone happy, but wouldn't cost them the farm where they were all starting to feel comfortable. He had even stopped carrying his gun, for the time being, to appease Hershel just a bit.

"From what you're tellin' me, they been on top of me since we got here!" Daryl said. "Been on top of all of us 'cause that barn ain't moved. But I didn't even know they was there. You didn't either until Glenn here went lookin' around where he really ain't had no reason to be. The barn's out here. It's chained up. They don't seem capable of gettin' outta the damn door."

"We can reinforce the doors," Rick offered, stepping forward like he might try to calm Shane down. "So they can't get out."

"You can hear them trying to get out now, Rick!"

"They only makin' that much noise because you're out here yelling!" Daryl barked.

Shane locked his eyes on Carol, then. He really noticed her for the first time. For the first time, he said nothing about Sophia being upset. He said nothing about her that made Carol feel that her baby was unwelcome in the group. Instead, he rushed toward her a little too quickly for Carol's comfort. Carol took a step backward and felt a rush of relief as Daryl very clearly placed his body between Shane and her—directly in Shane's path. Shane stopped his forward movement, but he still addressed Carol.

"That what you want, Carol? To stay here? Let them get out? Let 'em eat you while you sleep? Eat Sophia? Tear her apart?"

"Shut the fuck up, man!" Daryl barked. He surged toward Shane, then, and backed Shane up by shoving hard against his chest.

It was a warning blow. Carol had seen anger enough to know what Daryl was doing. His buttons were being pushed and he was running out of the self-control required to keep from lashing out at Shane. The shove didn't hurt Shane, but it was a warning that Daryl had taken just about as much as he intended to take. Carol would argue that Daryl's fuse was long—especially in comparison to some—but everyone had their limits.

At the shove, Glenn scurried a few steps away and Rick stepped forward to put himself between the two men and stop the fight before it happened.

Rick's presence was enough to turn Shane's attention for a second.

"You don't deserve anything you got, man! You don't deserve any of it! You'd stay here and listen to some crazy ass old man! Put everyone in danger! Lori and Carl—you don't deserve anything you got!"

"Just calm the fuck down!" Daryl barked, attempting to step in and help Rick in the same way that Rick had tried to take some of the heat off of him. Shane swung almost instantly.

"You can play fuckin' house with Carol all you want," Shane barked. "But that's all the hell it is! Playin'! You deserve exactly what you got—nothin'! That's all you've got and it's all you'll ever have! You think they give a damn about you? Soon as Sophia's old enough to see you for what you are? Look at you…she'll run the other way when you get near her!"

Carol wasn't hit with the impact of the words as much as she was hit by the visible impact that they had on Daryl. She could see the air leave his chest the same as if Shane had taken a sledgehammer straight to his sternum.

With less energy than before, because Shane had seemingly drained everything out of him that even existed, Daryl lunged at Shane. He landed a solid punch to Shane's face, and then another, before the two of them toppled to the ground. If he'd gone in with the full force of the anger he'd threatened before—if Shane had never knocked the wind out of him—he might have severely injured him. As it was, he bloodied Shane's face before Rick could drag him off.

And as soon as he hit his feet, Daryl staggered away and started to practically lope off toward the woods. He stopped only a moment to look back at Shane and then back toward Carol.

Carol's chest ached at the expression on his face when he made eye contact with her. She found her voice since it had gone missing with the chaos surrounding her.

"Daryl—wait…" she begged.

He trotted off and she followed him.

"Go away!" He warned, yelling back at her. "Get away from me! Leave me alone! Don't'cha fuckin' follow me!"

Carol slowed her steps. She hugged her desperately unhappy daughter against her. She watched Daryl as he loped across the field and disappeared into the woods. She respected his wishes and gave him the distance that he needed.

She didn't return to see what Rick, Shane, or Glenn might say. She didn't return to washing the sheets or to preparing the meat that Daryl hadn't finished cleaning. Instead, Carol took her daughter and she returned to the small tent that had become their home.

She wouldn't follow him, because he deserved to have his wishes respected, but she would be there when he came back—and she believed he would come back.


	31. Chapter 31

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **Thank you so much for the welcome back! You really know how to make me feel loved! I appreciate all your support and I'm thrilled that you're enjoying this as much as I am!**

 **I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

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Sophia had recently woken with a complaint about her diaper, but Carol had gotten her quickly back into a deep sleep. Carol liked to watch her when she slept. She slept with absolute abandon. She slept the way that everyone, Carol was sure, wished that they were capable of sleeping.

Carol hadn't left the tent since Daryl had left the farm. She had food, but that was only thanks to Andrea bringing out enough for her to eat and to share with Daryl if he were to return. Other than Andrea's brief visit to the tent, Carol hadn't seen anyone else from their group. She'd interacted with none of them. She was mildly aware that there was discontent flowing through the camp, but she had purposefully distanced herself from all of it.

Whatever they decided, it was of little concern to her until she'd spoken to Daryl.

It was dark, but Carol wasn't left in absolute darkness. The campfire she'd built, which she kept feeding with sticks that she'd collected together, was just large enough to keep the blackness from wrapping entirely around her. Carol sat a few feet away from it, on a folded towel, and just outside the tent where Sophia was sleeping.

Some distance away, a lamp flickered in the tent that T-Dog had claimed near the RV and one flickered in the tent that Glenn called home. There was no evidence that anyone was awake in the RV, but a few windows in the house showed signs of lamps still burning.

There were no other fires burning at this hour and everything was still and silent. Carol could almost sleep where she sat, but she was waiting on Daryl. Wrapped around her shoulders, she'd borrowed Daryl's poncho. She told herself that she wore it to ward off the slight chill that she felt when sitting still in the coolness of the night but, really, the nearby fire took care of that.

She jumped at the sound of a breaking stick. Her pulse instinctively picked up at the sound of a footstep.

"Daryl?" She called out quietly, barely putting voice to the word.

There was another barely audible sound of leaves crunching or dirt shifting and Carol hit her feet. She wrapped the poncho around her shoulders—wrapping herself in the scent of Daryl—like just the smell of him might protect her if there was something unknown around her.

"Daryl? Is that you?" She asked softly.

"You better be damn glad it ain't nobody else," Daryl growled in the darkness. Carol looked for him but her eyes hadn't found him yet. "What the hell you doin' out here? Oughta be asleep."

"I was waiting on you," Carol said.

"I ain't your problem," Daryl said. "Just like you ain't my problem."

Carol pretended that the words and the bite behind them didn't sting. Daryl came into view. He practically slinked into view. It was immediately clear that he'd had a hard day.

"I kept you a bucket of water," Carol said. She quickly went for the pot that she would use to warm the water, transferred the water to it, and placed it on the fire. "You can wash up. Clean your hands. I could bandage them for you—if you like."

It was better to her if she kept herself busy. It was better to give Daryl the time he needed to talk about what had happened, if he wanted to talk about it at all.

"You cold?" Daryl asked.

"What?" Carol asked. "There's a towel—for you to sit on. If you like…"

"You cold?" Daryl asked, accepting a seat on the towel she'd put down for him. "The poncho…"

"You mind?" Carol asked, starting to shed the garment that she was wearing more like a cape. Daryl held his hands up quickly to stop her.

"Keep it," Daryl said. "Don't get cold."

"I'm not," Carol said. "Not really." She felt herself relax, oddly enough. Daryl's tone was better than it had been. There was still something to it, but it wasn't as harsh as it had been. Carol slipped into the tent that held their supplies and gathered the things she needed before she returned with the clothes, clean rags, soap, and towel that she'd sought. She brought the pot off of the fire, before the water could get too hot, and put it near her before she hit her knees on the towel next to Daryl's and reached for his hand. He jerked it back, probably from instinct. "Your hands are hurt," Carol said softly. "Let me help."

"You don't gotta," he argued.

"I want to," Carol said. He let her have his hand. She carefully started to wash away the dirt and blood from his hand. She apologized when he hissed at her over the feeling of the water and soap in the wounds and she blew over his fingers—a sensation he seemed to enjoy. A quick glance at his face told her that he didn't hate it.

"Why you wearin' it?" Daryl asked.

"What?" Carol asked.

"The poncho," Daryl said. "If you ain't cold…why you wearin' it?"

Carol swallowed. Her stomach tightened. She asked herself if she dared to tell him the truth.

Maybe he would hate her. Maybe he would run away again. Maybe the last thing that he wanted to hear was what she truly felt or thought.

Maybe it was what he needed more than anything.

She couldn't look him in the eyes, but she could pat his hands dry while she spoke and she could wrap his busted fingers in the clean rags she would use as bandages to keep the dirt out for the night.

"It smells like you," Carol said.

"Stinks," Daryl said.

"Smells familiar," Carol said.

"Like sweat," Daryl responded.

"Like—comfort," Carol said. Carol held her breath a second before she glanced back at him. He was silent. He was still. His eyes were darting back and forth like he didn't know where to look and he looked away from her when she caught his eyes. She could feel the tension in his fingers. But he didn't pull his and away. Carol tenderly cared for his wounds, purposely taking her time. "Shane—had no right to say what he said to you today. No right at all."

"Had every damn right," Daryl said.

"No, he didn't," Carol assured him.

"He ain't lied," Daryl said.

"Didn't he?" Carol asked. She let go of Daryl's hands—now clean and bandaged—and sat back on her heel.

Daryl brought his hand up like he might chew at his thumb—he'd caused more than one of the injuries that Carol had cleaned and bandaged, of that much she was sure—and then he dropped his hand in frustration when he found he would get a mouthful of damp cotton because he'd be gnawing on the rag bandage.

He got up and Carol let him. She knew better than to try to control Daryl or hold him down. It was better to let him do what he needed to do. What he needed to do, at this moment, was to take his pot of water and other belongings somewhere else. He gathered them up and started off some distance. Carol already knew what he was doing. He was going to bathe.

"You don't have to go far, Daryl," Carol said. "I won't look. I'll stay right here. Just like I am. You can have your privacy."

Carol kept her word to stay where she was. She heard him when he stopped his steps, too. He hadn't gone far. The darkness would hide him from anyone that wasn't too close by. She would give him the privacy that he needed to bathe with the warm water and soap available to him and to change into the clean clothes. She listened to him undress in silence, and she listened to him rustling around as he took care of what he needed to take care of.

"Shane didn't tell the truth," Carol offered, her back still to Daryl. "Sophia—would never run away from you. She's always happy to see you."

"She's a baby," Daryl said. "Don't know no better."

"She's a baby," Carol echoed. "Perhaps—she knows better than any of us do. She can sense things and…well…she's really not old enough, Daryl, to just be polite about things. She doesn't understand that. She likes who she likes because they're good to her. And she—Daryl? She does more than like you."

Carol's heart thundered in her chest. Her chest ached. She wanted desperately, as she knelt on the towel on her knees with her back to Daryl, to confess everything to him. She wanted to confess her thoughts and feelings. She wanted to confess everything she'd hid to keep from scaring him away. And, slowly, she could feel her resolve to keep it a secret cracking and falling away.

"She loves you, Daryl…" Carol said.

"Familiar," Daryl said.

"Yes," Carol said. "But it's more than that. Shane's familiar. Rick. Glenn. T-Dog. But she doesn't love them. She loves you, Daryl, because she feels that you love her."

"Shane's right," Daryl said. "She ain't my kid."

"And I'm sorry for that," Carol said.

"What?" Daryl asked.

Carol's chest seized and she wished she could take back the boldness of her words. She hoped that he really hadn't heard her or that he was pretending he hadn't so he could really give her the chance to take it back.

"She's not your biological child," Carol said. "No. But she doesn't understand biology. She doesn't know what it means. She only knows one thing. How she feels."

"She don't know I ain't no damn good," Daryl said.

Carol felt the warm wetness dripping down her cheeks. She felt the constriction in her chest and the ache in her throat.

She had cried for a man before, but never like this. The tears she'd shed for Ed—the tears he'd practically reveled in—had never been pulled from her body like this.

"She knows you're—so good," Carol said. "So good. Just like me. Better than Shane. Better than any of them."

She heard Daryl moving around in silence. She listened to him as he probably dried and dressed himself. She kept her back to him because she respected his wishes, but also because she was afraid to face him.

"If you think that, then you don't know the fuckin' truth, neither," Daryl said. "I ain't no good. I ain't never been no good."

"You are to me," Carol said. "And I never knew you before so, whatever you were before? It doesn't matter to me, Daryl. Not anymore than you want it to matter. I only know who you are now. And you're a good man. I know that…and Sophia knows that."

"I ain't no kinda man like Rick or Shane," Daryl said.

"I know," Carol said. "You're better…"

"I come from shit," Daryl said. "Raised in hell."

Carol laughed to herself.

"It's OK," she said. "I've been there myself. Sophia—was conceived there. Born there. We're—we're familiar with the territory."

"You got out," Daryl said.

"You did too," Carol offered.

"I'd just drag you right back into it," Daryl said.

"I don't believe you would," Carol said.

"You don't know me," Daryl said.

"I don't—not as well as I'd like. But I know you enough," Carol said.

"You thought Merle was an asshole—you never met Rooster Dixon," Daryl said. "My old man."

"You aren't your old man," Carol said. "I know that. Sophia does too."

"Can't help what you are," Daryl said. "You don't know I wouldn't just up an' turn into him. I don't wanna—do that. Not to you. Not to her."

"Then you won't," Carol said.

"You don't know it!" He barked.

"I do," Carol said, making sure she kept her voice as steady and full of confidence as she could.

"Shane was right," Daryl said. He walked closer. Carol heard him coming up behind her. She stayed down, though, with her back to him for a moment longer. "I don't got shit. I ain't never had shit and I ain't never gonna have shit. That ain't for me. Ain't for people like me."

Carol held her breath a moment and then she put her hands down to support herself and help herself to her feet. She got up and brushed off her palms before she wiped at the wetness that coated her face. She turned around, entirely unsure what to expect.

She didn't expect to see him standing there, shoulders slumped forward, with his shirt sticking to his damp skin, looking at her like everything was wrong in the world and he'd lost even the will to live.

"You deserve…so much," Carol breathed out. He shook his head at her and she nodded at him. She could never explain to him how much she felt he deserved. She could never explain to him how little she knew she had to offer him and how happy she felt just to be in his presence. She didn't try. Not right away. "You do," Carol said. She offered him a smile and he shook his head. The frown he was wearing deepened. If he cried, she'd already decided she would never mention it to another soul. For good measure, though, she let a few more tears slip from her eyes and she cried for him—for all the pain she saw in his face. "Daryl…" She said. "Don't listen to Shane or—or anyone who's talking to you right now. In your mind. Because—I know all about the voices. I hear them, too. But don't listen to them. Just listen to me. Can you hear me?" Carol asked.

"Yeah," Daryl said softly, barely releasing the word.

Carol smiled at him.

"Good," she offered. "Now—Daryl? Just—tell me what you want."

He stared at her, hard, and Carol held his eyes. She kept her distance, afraid to push the envelope more than she already had. She stilled herself and prepared for the fact that she may very well hear something she didn't want to hear. She was fully prepared, though, to accept whatever he said because, ultimately, she wanted him to be happy.

Her stomach flipped, when Daryl spoke again. The word was barely audible, but it was clearly spoken. There was no denying what he'd said.

"You."


	32. Chapter 32

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol quickly crossed the short distance of ground that separated them and reached her hands out to touch Daryl's face. Clearly, he flinched at her touch and pulled his face away out of instinct, but as soon as he realized that her hands on his face were only meant in a gentle caress, he relaxed a little and allowed Carol that touch.

She kissed him before she said anything in response to his confession. She kissed him before she even thought about the fact that she was going to kiss him. She caught him off-guard, and the kiss that he offered her in exchange for her kiss was little more than the confused pressing of his lips against hers for a second before she could practically feel him struggle to figure out what was taking place.

Carol released him then and smiled at him.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't…don't apologize," Daryl said. "Ever. Not for—not for that."

"When you said you wanted…me, did you mean it?"

Daryl laughed nervously. It was a short burst of laughter.

"Why would I say it if I didn't?" He asked.

"I want you, too," Carol offered. She felt the heat burn in her cheeks. It was difficult to say. Even when things had been at their best with her ex-husband, it wasn't something she would have said to him. That wasn't how their relationship had evolved. It wasn't representative of the kind of person he had been or the kind of person she was when she was with him. It felt awkward, even now, but it felt right.

And it quickly felt even more right when Carol saw Daryl visibly relax more. This time, he reached a hand out to her. Instead of flinching away, she closed her eyes. She already knew what sensation to expect. She felt the gentle brush of his bandaged fingers on her cheek. She felt them trail down and explore her throat for a second before his hand settled behind her neck. With her eyes closed, Carol drank in the first gentle explorations of Daryl's fingers, and she felt the rest of her body waking up to the possibility that there would be more.

The kiss he pressed to her lips was soft and tentative. It was simple and he repeated it. For the simplicity of the kiss, though, it still did overwhelming things to Carol's body. She felt warmth spread through her. Her pulse picked up.

"I ain't no good at this," Daryl said. "Any of it."

His voice was almost unexpected. It pulled Carol back from the place where she was swimming in the quiet contemplation of all that she hoped was to come. She opened her eyes to him.

"What?" She breathed out, realizing that she'd heard his voice without really absorbing his words. His brow was furrowed and he was frowning deeply again. Whatever he'd said, he was preparing for a response from Carol, and it was clear that he didn't expect it to be a good one.

"I ain't no good at this," Daryl said. "Any of it."

"At what?" Carol asked.

"Any of this," Daryl said sincerely. "The kissin' or the…whatever…"

"What do you mean you aren't any good at it?" Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't know how, OK?" He snapped.

Very quickly, anger bubbled up in Daryl from out of nowhere. He'd dropped his hand from Carol's face, otherwise she was pretty sure she might feel it surging through his fingertips like electricity through a live wire.

But it wasn't anger. At first, she might have mistaken it for anger, but Carol had seen anger before. In fact, she'd seen every variety of anger—and she knew that anger wasn't always anger. This time, what she saw in front of her wasn't anger at all. It was embarrassment. It was the embodiment of feelings of inadequacy. It was fear that she would react in an undesirable way—that she would hurt him—and it was the gathering of the first rudimentary pieces to a foundation for a quickly constructed wall that would shield him from that hurt.

How she handled this moment would be more defining than nearly anything else that had happened between them since she'd met Daryl, and Carol felt that in her gut.

"It's OK if you—haven't done this a lot," Carol said.

"Never," Daryl threw at her. It was softer than his previous words. Carol had calmed him down with just the promise that it was OK.

Carol hadn't really thought about what Daryl's experiences might have been with women. At least, she hadn't thought about it in any great detail. His brother had made a lot of boasts in camp that led Carol to believe that he'd probably known a good deal of women in the biblical sense—though Merle Dixon had been anything but biblical. That thought had been strengthened later by the fact that he'd left a large amount of antibiotics in his motorcycle saddlebags that Daryl explained had been given to him to fight off infections that he might have developed in the company of women who had carried those infections.

Carol had never thought that Daryl would be interested in the same kinds of interactions that had obviously interested his brother, but she hadn't thought that he'd have chosen to go entirely in the opposite direction in favor of a celibate lifestyle.

Daryl was, after all, the kindest man that she'd ever known. He was—in his own way, even though Shane might have disagreed—the gentlest man that Carol had ever known. He might not have been storybook handsome, but he was ruggedly handsome, and the more that Carol got to know him, the more she found him desirable. Everything about Daryl, even though she'd hardly dared to admit it to herself, tugged at parts of her that she'd thought long dead—parts her ex-husband had tried to kill in his own way.

Carol found it difficult to imagine that Daryl hadn't been able to have his pick of women.

But she didn't mind that he hadn't, and that was all that was important to him. All he cared about was knowing how Carol was going to react to the fact that he didn't know much about what he clearly hoped would happen here—what Carol hoped would happen here.

"That's OK," Carol said, keeping her voice even. She smiled at him again and reached her hand up toward his face again. This time he didn't flinch. He let her brush her fingers through his hair. He stared at her hard. She felt like he was trying to read her to find out if she was telling him the truth. "There's not that much to know."

"Prob'ly do it all wrong," Daryl said.

Carol's chest clenched in response. There it was, that crippling self-doubt. She knew it. She felt it. It hurt when she heard it out of the mouth of someone she cared about—someone who never should have felt that way.

"No," she offered, shaking her head. "You won't. I promise."

"You don't know that," Daryl said, sounding very much like a child for a moment. Carol swallowed down her laugher.

"I do," she said. "I absolutely do know it. Kiss me again, Daryl. If you want…"

He did want. He clearly wanted. And he did kiss her again. Long and hard. This time, there was less gentle and more hunger, but it was clear that he didn't know what to do with all the hunger. Carol didn't know what to do with it either. She could practically feel Daryl buzzing with need and want and hunger.

Nobody had ever wanted her with such raw desire.

Carol pushed away from Daryl to catch her breath. She swallowed it up in a gulp of air and she panted to get her breath where Daryl had taken it from her. He was breathing hard, too, from the efforts that he'd expended in the kissing.

"No good?" Daryl asked.

"Very good," Carol offered.

"You just sayin' that," Daryl said.

"I mean that," Carol said. "But as long as we're being honest, and as long as we're coming clean, there's something you should know, too, Daryl."

Daryl somewhat backed away, but Carol didn't hold the little bit of distance gained against him. He was giving her distance to talk to him comfortably. He was giving her space to breath and make her confession. He wasn't running away from her, and she knew that.

"I—am not really very good at this, either," Carol said.

"You were married," Daryl offered as though that made it clear that she should be some kind of expert on all matters of intercourse.

Carol nodded her head.

"I was," she said, "and that's what makes my confession worse."

"That you didn't—with your husband?" Daryl asked. "Sophia…"

Carol understood Daryl's confusion. He thought she was trying to make a confession to him that she wasn't very good at this because she lacked experience. Maybe he even thought that she was trying to placate him in some way by echoing his story but doing so falsely. She shook her head at him.

"I was married," she said. "And I've slept with my husband many times. Sometimes—because I wanted to and, other times, because—because he wanted to. Or—I guess—because he needed something. Because men need things." Daryl stared hard at her. She couldn't read him because his brow was furrowed in concern. She decided she was free to continue. "I guess—the fact that I was married to Ed makes my confession that much worse. You're—worried because maybe you haven't had that much experience…"

"None," Daryl offered. This time it was him who had a soft tone of voice. This time Carol felt like he was trying to figure out how he might soothe her feelings.

"I have experience," Carol said, "with Ed. And I have—I have it on his authority that I'm just no good at this. I'm really very bad…at all of it. Bad enough that—Ed said they'd probably grant him a divorce just on those terms if he could make it clear to a court just how bad I am…"

Carol swallowed against the sudden tightening her throat. Of all the things that Ed had done to her over the course of their marriage, it felt foolish to say that, sometimes, it was what he said that hurt the most. Carol thought, with his death, she'd be free from him, but she wasn't. He was always there. She could push him down, keep him in a place that she made for him in her mind, but he always escaped. As she'd told Daryl, she was no stranger to the voices.

Now, though, the voice was particularly strong.

"I'm very bad at this," Carol said. "And—you deserve better than that…"

When Daryl caught her chin and held her face, Carol was sure that he didn't mean to do so with quite so much strength. Sometimes he was unaware of how strong he was. He lifted her face to him and he stared hard in her eyes before he offered her a crooked smile that just turned up the one side of his lips.

"Hey—listen—I mean—good or bad? It don't matter much, do it? I—ain't gonna know the difference."

Carol couldn't help but smile. She laughed, even, as the laughter bubbled up inside of her and a small bit of it escaped. Maybe it wasn't the greatest compliment in the world. Maybe it wasn't some poetic declaration that she would be incredible, but it was perfect. It wasn't a lie. Carol didn't doubt the sincerity of Daryl's words and she didn't doubt the truth in them. He wasn't telling her that she was perfect—only that she was perfect for him.

Carol kissed him again and he wrapped his arms around her. He let his hands explore her—snaking around her body as he kissed her. The kiss was hungry, again, and Carol was sure that the hunger and need she felt from him wouldn't die down until he'd had the opportunity to release some of it—some of everything he likely had pent up inside him.

She felt her own need aching between her legs. It took only the kiss to relight the flame there and her body cried out for the feel of him.

She broke the kiss again after a moment and Daryl held tight to her—not stepping away this time—like he feared she might run away or disappear.

"There's one more thing," Carol said.

"You changin' your mind…" Daryl offered.

"No," Carol said. "But—you might."

Daryl let go of her, then, but he didn't put a great deal of distance between them. Instead, he gave himself just enough space to examine his bandaged fingers in the dark.

"Wouldn't count on it," he huffed. "Can't feel my fingers…this shit's gotta go."

"You could get an infection," Carol offered.

"Still got antibiotics for me," Daryl offered. "Take my chances. Besides—they clean. That's all that really matters."

"They won't stay clean," Carol said.

"Then I'll wash my hands," Daryl responded shortly. He was already removing the bandages that Carol had made from rags and dropping them on the ground without concern. He stopped, for just a second, and looked at Carol before he continued. "That weren't what you was gonna say…"

"I'm not on birth control," Carol said. "I don't have—birth control and I don't have condoms. I don't have anything."

Daryl continued shedding the bandages for a moment, freeing one finger at a time.

"I don't got no kinda thing like that," Daryl said.

"Probably nobody does," Carol said.

"So that's it?" Daryl asked. "I mean—we ain't got it, we ain't got it. An' you don't wanna—have no kid by me."

"I didn't think I could have children," Carol said. "It was so many years before Sophia. There were other—situations—before she was born. But I just thought…I'd never have a baby."

"You got Sophia," Daryl said.

Carol smiled to herself.

"I do," she said. "I have Sophia."

"An' you don't want no more," Daryl said. "Or—you don't want none by me?"

Carol considered his words. The way he said them made her stomach flip. A wave of memories—mostly bad—involving Ed came washing back over her.

Daryl felt like everything that Ed had never been, and it was clear to Carol how different they were. She heard it in nearly every word that he said.

"I don't know that there would ever be more than Sophia," Carol said. "And—they keep telling me this isn't a world for babies…"

"There ain't no damn world without babies," Daryl said. "Unless it just ends with us. Makes Sophia the last human…"

"There will be more babies," Carol said. "In the world…eventually."

"You just don't want there to be one with me…" Daryl said.

"I thought—you might not want one with me," Carol said. "It's a big responsibility. I wouldn't want to put that on you…"

"You mean you wouldn't care if…it you had one of mine?" Daryl asked.

Carol sucked in a breath and held it. She tried to steady herself. She hoped what she said didn't scare him. She didn't want to scare him.

"I wish—Sophia was yours," Carol said. "So—I wouldn't mind if…there were more. I believe you would help me to keep them safe. And that would be all that mattered to me. If they were safe…that would be all that mattered."

By this point, Daryl had freed the fingers that Carol had so lovingly cleaned and bandaged such a short time ago and, despite the fact they possibly ached from where he'd bothered the cuticles while dealing with his feelings over Shane, Daryl returned to harassing his cuticle.

"Wouldn't nothin' stop me," Daryl said, "from doin' what I could."

"I know," Carol said. "But—it's a decision that I want you to be able to make."

Daryl nodded his head at her. He stepped forward and closed the distance that he'd put between them.

"After all this—you still want me too?" Daryl asked.

Carol nodded at him.

"More than—I've ever wanted anything before."


	33. Chapter 33

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Some voice in Carol's mind told her that she should be ashamed of herself. The voice told her that she was a whore and the proof was in the fact that she was offering herself to Daryl—a man that the voice argued she hardly knew. The voice told her that only bad things would come to her and she deserved everything she got.

And Carol ignored the voice long enough to kiss Daryl with everything she had. She held his hands in hers like she feared he might run away, but there was very little effort on his part to run.

"Where?" He asked.

"The tent?" Carol said with a laugh. "Or by the fire—whichever you prefer."

"Don't wanna—bother Sophia," Daryl said.

"She's sleeping," Carol said. "We'll keep our voices down. She's a good sleeper. She has to be. And she's slept through more than this…"

Carol could feel Daryl's tension. She could feel his insecurity. And that feeling made her that much more determined that she would do anything to make him feel good. She tugged at his hand.

"Have you changed your mind?" She asked.

"Have you?" He countered.

"I won't," Carol assured him. "Come on…"

Carol made her way into the tent first. She lit the camping lantern and tucked it into one distant corner of the tent. Sophia was sleeping on her blanket in the middle of the tent, so Carol moved her and the blanket as far to the side as she could to give them room. The baby didn't stir much more than to suckle in her sleep at something that wasn't there, and then she settled back into stillness. Carol smoothed the blankets and Daryl peeked his head in the tent.

To prove to him that she was still interested, Carol took off her shirt and put it to the side. Her modesty wanted her to keep her clothing on as long as possible. Some distant idea that it was only right for Daryl to remove her clothing told her to keep her clothing on.

Practicality told her that there was always time for such things, but this time Daryl might appreciate things being as simple and straightforward as she could possibly make them. She moved around to rid herself of the rest of her clothes and sat there in the middle of their pallet in the tent.

"I'm a little exposed here," Carol said. "And—I'm all alone, Daryl."

He jumped. She saw it and swallowed back the humor that rose up in her. He was staring at her, half-hanging out of the tent, and he hadn't expected her to speak.

His only response was to follow her into the tent and, as soon as he was inside, to copy her move for move. She watched as he shucked his clothing and tossed it to the side. Even as he was coming out of his clothes, Daryl dived toward her and kissed her lips before he kissed the crook of her neck and her shoulder. She smiled to herself. Maybe he didn't know how to do whatever he wanted to do—and maybe he couldn't quite do what he had decided he needed to do—but he certainly knew how to let her know that he desired her.

And that meant more to Carol than she had even realized it might.

She took his face in her hands and kissed him back. He struggled to try to get free of his pants, so she let go of him and gave him the space he needed. She stared at him, her cheeks burning as her mind chastised her for being so bold as to stare at his body that way, and her pulse kicked up a beat.

If she'd wondered whether or not he was genuinely interested, that question passed as soon as he was free from his underwear. He grimaced and hissed at himself when he accidentally touched himself while removing his pants. He was rock hard. He was sensitive. He wouldn't last long, and Carol wouldn't make things difficult for him.

"Oh," she hummed quietly as he readjusted himself to get comfortable on the blanket in front of her—looking at her like he needed her to tell him where to go next and what to do.

"Somethin' wrong?" Daryl asked.

"Everything's fine," Carol said. "You—never got picked on in the locker room, did you?"

"What?" Daryl asked.

"Your—umm…you're…the size…"

"Too small?" Daryl asked, practically backing up like he might flee the tent. "Merle give me shit…" Carol reached out and caught his arms. She worked his muscles in her hands. She leaned forward to kiss him.

"Not small for too many women, I imagine," Carol said with a laugh. "Bigger than Ed was."

"That bad?"

"Nothing is bad here, Daryl," Carol assured him. She changed her position. She decided there was no need to make him wait. She was certain that each passing moment made things more uncomfortable for him—and there would be time for experimentation. Missionary would be easiest for him. It would be nicest for her. For now, it would limit how deep he could go and how quickly he could get there. She took her position and reached out to welcome him to her.

He came toward her, happily, and kissed her with the same hunger that she'd felt outside the tent. She moved one of his hands to touch her breast and he massaged it before he pulled back like he'd been burned.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"Wet…" Daryl offered.

"Milk," Carol said. "They might—leak. Is that OK?"

"It's Sophia's…" Daryl said.

Carol laughed to herself.

"I'll make more," she assured him. "Is it OK? I can't help if they leak…"

Daryl's response was to try to calm her by squeezing her breast again. He ducked his head to kiss her collarbone, and then her chest. He groaned. He was uncomfortable and Carol knew it. She rearranged herself and opened her legs to make herself readily available to him.

"Come on," she breathed. "Whenever you're ready…"

"Don't you need?" Daryl asked. He let the question trail off. He knew she needed something, or he believed he did, but it was clear that he didn't know what he believed she might need.

"What?" Carol asked.

"Somethin' to—prime the pump or…or start the engine or whatever it was…hell it was shit my brother used to say. Don't'cha need—somethin'?"

Carol smiled to herself.

He cared. He didn't know what she might need, but he wanted her to have whatever it was. He cared whether or not she had what she needed. Ed had never cared. Carol kissed Daryl again and, while she entertained him by teasing his tongue and lips, she took his hand and guided it between her legs. He pulled back from the kiss.

"That's…"

"I'm wet," Carol offered. "Very—very wet. The pump or the engine or whatever? Daryl—that's coming from just how much I want you. You're all I need right now. So—come on."

"I don't know what I'm doin'," Daryl offered. Carol thought she could practically hear his pulse pick up. He moved to take his position over her. He knew enough, it seemed.

"Just do what feels good," Carol said. "If you enjoy it, it'll be good. I promise. You just—do what feels good to you."

Daryl seemed doubtful about whether or not she was telling him the truth. Still, he also seemed unable to fight against it too much. After a stumbled attempt to enter her, Carol helped him find what he was looking for. She didn't expect him to shift his hips and sink all the way into her at once, but she accepted that he did. And when she gasped at him and asked him for a second to adjust, he allowed her that, kissing her face with worry and concern—a concern that melted quickly when she gave him the permission that he needed to give into his feelings and move however nature drove him to move.

His movements were fast and hard and a little erratic. Carol tried to move with him for the first few thrusts, but finally she simply gave herself over to him. It wasn't long before he was pressing his head against her shoulder and grunting with satisfaction as he shivered and stilled against her. A second later, he pulled away from her, panting, and sat on the blanket beside her.

She immediately came to him and caressed his face. She kissed his cheek and his jaw. She ran her fingers gently over his skin and through his hair. She captured his lips and accepted the kiss that he gave her in return.

Slowly he got control of his breathing. He calmed and seemed to return to himself. The hunger he'd put out before seemed somewhat satiated for the time being.

"Was it good?" Carol asked.

He hummed at her and nodded his head.

"Was it for you?" He asked.

"Yeah," she assured him, nodding her head.

"You wouldn't lie," Daryl said. His tone of voice said that he was sure she was lying. "You didn't get what'cha need. What'cha want. Lasted thirty fuckin' seconds. Weren't long enough for you to hardly know more'n I was in there."

"It's OK. It was your first time. And I got everything I wanted," Carol assured him with a laugh. "But if you want to give me more…"

He nodded.

Carol took his hand and pressed it between her legs. She used his fingers to find the sensitive nub that held the key to bringing her to climax. She pressed his fingers against it and, with her own, she worked his fingers to show him how she liked to be touched. She showed him how much pressure she liked. She showed him the kind of movement she enjoyed. She let him hear her satisfied moans and gasps, and it wasn't long before she was able to move her fingers because his desire to keep pleasing her took over and he took control.

He obeyed, well, commands like "faster" and "harder." He kissed her—peppering her shoulders and collarbones and breasts with the kisses—while he continued the movement that she'd taught him, and by the time that she came, panting and deeply satisfied, he was already growing hard again from simply watching her.

"That all it takes?" He asked. His voice was deep and throaty—more so than she'd ever heard it before. His eyes were nearly glazed over.

"That's all it takes," Carol said. "But—combine it all together and…"

"You mean do that while?"

"I never have," Carol admitted. "I never even—I never showed Ed what I liked."

"You didn't want him to know?" Daryl asked. "Like a secret?"

"He didn't care," Carol responded. "I've never…combined them. But…"

"I wanna…" Daryl breathed out. He didn't have to tell her what he wanted. He was practically on top of her before he got the words out. He was kissing her and, soon, she felt the weight of him against her belly. His newfound enthusiasm for what he'd learned to do that night had him ready again. When his hand reached down to help him find her opening, Carol spread her legs to give him access—and this time she was ready for him when he found his way and sunk entirely into her with a hard thrust. Immediately his fingers went back to her already sensitive nub and she replaced his fingers with her own before she encouraged him to satisfy his hunger as well. He didn't have to do it all alone, after all.

This time, it took longer. This time, he paced himself a bit more. He was no longer like a starving man in a feeding frenzy at a buffet. This time, Carol moved with him and enjoyed the friction of their bodies—delicious friction created by both of them—instead of simply feeling like she was receiving whatever it was he needed to give her.

And, this time, she found release not long after he did—thanks to his efforts to make sure that she got what she wanted from his newly learned skill of correctly applied pressure and movement.

When he collapsed, this time, Carol was sure he was done for the night. She was tired, too, and it wouldn't be long before Sophia woke and demanded care and milk and nighttime attention. Exhausted, Carol curled against Daryl's body. He lie, on his back, with his eyes closed. She kissed the side of his face.

"Was it what you wanted it to be?" Carol asked. Daryl hummed.

"More," he offered. "You ain't—disappointed?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"It was more than I ever expected," she said. "More than—I've ever experienced. You could never disappoint me."

"I still don't think—I don't think I know what I'm doin'," Daryl offered.

"I think—you've got a pretty good idea," Carol assured him. "But—there's plenty of time. And plenty we can learn together. If you're not—too disappointed with me, that is."

"Didn't have any expectations," Daryl said. "Pretty damn hard to disappoint someone who ain't expectin' nothin' in particular."

"But you—enjoyed it?" Carol asked, her stomach tightening.

Daryl rubbed his hand over her arm and kissed her face. He curled into her as much as she'd curled into him. It was the first time he was drawing this close to her without the excuse of keeping warm or simply being too crowded to allow them personal space.

She liked the sensation of his body against hers.

"Best I ever had," he offered with a laugh. "In a minute—I'ma go make sure the fire's out. You get some sleep—don't'cha worry no more tonight."


	34. Chapter 34

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Sophia seemed capable of predicting the moment that Carol settled down to sleep, and she seemed to see that as the exact moment when she most needed nurturing and care from her mother. Carol felt like she spent most of the night nursing Sophia, changing her, and trying to get her back to sleep. When she'd finally gotten the little girl back to sleep and had the opportunity to lie down herself, she'd fallen asleep quickly and deeply—completely exhausted from the events of the past twenty-four hours.

When Carol woke up, she immediately knew that it was late. It was, at the very least, later than she normally woke. The sun was up, even if it wasn't high in the sky, and she usually woke while it was still dark.

Sophia slept soundly on the blanket beside her.

Other than that, Carol was alone.

Immediately, Carol's stomach flipped over the realization that Daryl was gone from the tent. He'd left, and he hadn't told her that he was going. He hadn't woken her for breakfast. He'd simply left the tent.

Carol feared the worse. The voice that she'd been able to ignore a little the night before was back and it was back with a vengeance. Before she could wash herself quickly with the cool water from one of the buckets that sat outside their tent and dress in clean clothes, she was already convinced that Daryl was gone. Not only was he gone, but he'd never return to the group. He had probably struck out on his own to avoid ever seeing her again. She was sure that his regret over what they'd done—what those "needs" that men had and couldn't control had driven him to do—would drive him to do practically anything to avoid her. Or—and such a thing might be even worse—he would remain in the group, but he would simply avoid her and ignore her presence.

Carol would hate to be without Daryl, but she was sure that she would hate, even more, to have to live with him and never be able to interact with him.

By the time she had a sleeping Sophia strapped into the sling—the baby barely disturbed by movement when she was determined to have a few more moments of sleep—the voice had practically convinced Carol that there was no other explanation for Daryl's absence beyond the fact that he'd come to his senses in the early hours of the morning and had fled from the scene of his poor choices.

She was worked up enough that tears were blurring her vision as she started across the farmyard. So much so, that she almost ran squarely into Daryl. To avoid colliding with her, Daryl side stepped quickly, barking out something of a warning noise, as he struggled to keep from dropping the plates he held in either hand.

"Somethin' on fire?" Daryl asked.

Carol stopped and stared at him. She blinked out a few of the tears that were welling up in her eyes and she quickly wiped them away when they ran down her cheeks. Daryl looked at her, brow-furrowed, like she was a creature that he was struggling to understand and hadn't had the opportunity to study much before.

"You OK?" He asked.

Carol's stomach ached and she felt foolish. Still, even though she realized that she'd overreacted and the voice had simply lied to her, she wasn't able to immediately rid herself of the sinking feeling that Daryl had regretted his decision and was gone forever.

She nodded at him.

"I didn't know—where you went," Carol said.

She'd wiped away most of the tears and sucked back the formation of others. Without the tears, she was clearly a little less confusing to Daryl, but his brow was still furrowed. He took her statement as a question, though, and gestured back toward the farmhouse with his head.

"Went out to piss this mornin' an' I remembered that I didn't never do nothin' with that deer," Daryl said. "I'da hated for all that meat to go to waste, so I went to see what had happened to it. Run into Patricia. Gatherin' eggs. Anyway—she'd got that boy…Jacob or James or…"

"Jimmy," Carol offered.

"Whatever," Daryl said dismissively. "Deer got cleaned and cooked up. Everyone must have descended on it like a pack of wolves 'cause that weren't no little deer. Mostly gone now. She was cookin' up what was left this mornin' with eggs." He gestured toward the plates he was holding, raising them up to draw attention to them in case Carol had missed them in the excitement of everything else. "Deer an' eggs. Breakfast."

Carol laughed to herself.

"For me?" She asked.

"Sophia's welcome to gnaw on whatever them two little half-made teeth of hers has a chance at chewing," Daryl said. "But I figured the most of it would be for you."

"You—went to get me breakfast?" Carol asked.

"I went to see about the deer," Daryl said. "To be honest, the breakfast was just a good surprise."

"You didn't wake me, and you didn't tell me where you were going," Carol said.

"You were sleeping," Daryl said. "And Sophia had you up most the night."

"You always—you always tell me where you're going," Carol said.

"And I don't hardly recall a time you weren't awake when I was goin' somewhere," Daryl said. He stopped speaking abruptly, sucked in a breath, and then looked at Carol with a renewed expression of confusion. "Did I do somethin' wrong? That why you was upset?"

"You didn't do anything wrong," Carol said. She shook her head. She reached for one of the plates to help Daryl, but he moved it in such a way as to make it clear that he intended to keep carrying it. He used the plate that he'd kept out of her grasp to gesture toward the tent. She understood that he meant for her to walk that way, so she turned and did just what he'd silently requested.

"You gonna tell me why you were crying?" Daryl asked as they walked. "If it weren't me…"

"It was me," Carol said. "It was…my own head."

"Voices?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself. He'd asked the question with absolute sincerity. There hadn't been any teasing to his tone. He followed along, just to her side and behind her, as they made their way back to the tent that they were calling home. She arranged some towels on the ground before she offered to take the plates for him to sit. He produced silverware—tightly bound in handkerchiefs—from his pocket and offered her those bundles as well. As soon as he was seated, Carol gave him everything she'd accepted from him, freed Sophia from her wrap, and sat down with the baby who decided she was furious over the injustice of having been disturbed again—the baby that was going to demand that Carol do something to make sure that she was entertained before she even dreamed of eating her meal.

Carol didn't speak to Daryl, again, until she'd arranged a blanket on the ground for Sophia and plopped her daughter down in the middle of it so that she could crawl around and play with the few toys that Carol scattered there for her.

She accepted her plate and fork from Daryl with a soft thanks.

"It's cold," Daryl said.

"It'll be fine," Carol assured him. "You know…I've—got to stop talking to you about voices or you're going to start thinking I'm crazy."

"You think I'm crazy?" Daryl asked. Carol didn't have to answer him with words. A gentle shake of her head answered his question. "I hear—hell—I hear 'em a lot. Rooster. Merle. My mama, sometimes…but she's usually got kinda nice things to say. Might make you think I'm outta my head. Might make you—run outta here as fast as you can. But I've even…seen 'em. I saw Merle. The day I went for the medicine for Soph. Talked to him."

"You had a pretty significant head injury," Carol offered.

"My point is," Daryl said, "that we all hear shit that we don't really hear. And if that makes us crazy, then I bet damn near everybody is runnin' around crazy." Carol hummed at him, but she didn't speak. She pretended her full focus was on chewing her way through several bites of the food. "Was it Ed?"

"I guess," Carol said.

"There someone else in there?" Daryl asked. "Someone else I—oughta know about?"

"Sometimes it's my own voice, I think," Carol said. "Just—it's just that it's not always nice to me. Even if it is me."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Fuck if I don't know that one," Daryl said. Carol frowned at him. He'd crammed a great deal of food into his mouth with an overloaded forkful and he chewed through it quickly. As soon as he'd swallowed half of it, the other half still waiting its turn, he spoke to her again. "Was it me that it was talkin' about?" Carol nodded her head and Daryl nodded his to mirror her movement. He hummed at her and finished choking down the oversized bite of food. "'Cause you was wishin' you hadn't…"

"No," Carol said quickly and firmly. She didn't want to leave any doubt in Daryl's mind. She knew, after all, how hurtful such doubt could be. "Not at all. It was—well, really it was…that I thought you might have changed your mind."

"Why would I?" Daryl asked.

"Why would I?" Carol countered. "Maybe—it doesn't make sense, but it feels like it does. In the moment. I woke up and you were gone and I just thought…you were gone. Really gone. For good. Forever. Or worse than that."

"What'd be worse than that?" Daryl asked.

"That you'd be here but—you'd be gone from me," Carol admitted. She shook her head at him. "I don't have any claim to you but…it's just how I felt."

Daryl paid more attention to his food than the plate really merited. Carol chewed through a few bites of her food, but she was mostly concerned with choking down enough to satisfy Daryl. He'd accept her leftovers if she gave them to him, but only when he felt that she'd had enough to keep herself going and to make milk for Sophia—two concerns that he expressed at nearly every meal where he felt she tried to get away with eating less than her fair share of the food provided.

"I'm not going anywhere," Daryl said. "Not—not for good, at least. I mean…I might go hunting or…or to get something if we need it. But I won't go anywhere for good. So, if that's something that worries you…"

Carol smiled at him. He smiled at her, too, though he quickly turned his attention back to the food to try to hide the smile.

"I'm glad you're not going anywhere," Carol said. "I wouldn't want you to leave."

"If I did—leave, I mean—it'd be with you. And Sophia. I wouldn't leave the two of you behind," Daryl amended.

"I think that's fair," Carol said.

"If you wanted to go with me," Daryl said. "Like you said—I got no kinda claim. It would be up to you if you wanted to go with me."

"I think—we would," Carol said.

"I think you oughta say it, too," Daryl said. "Just—as a thing."

"Say what?" Carol asked.

"That you ain't gonna leave," Daryl said.

He looked at her out the corner of his eye. It was more than just a passing glance. He was watching her to gauge her reaction. His whole demeanor changed in a fraction of a second. Carol offered him the best reassuring smile she could. She reached a hand over to give Sophia the toy she was squalling over—a toy that she could have reached with a little effort—and then she smiled at Daryl again.

"Is that something that really worries you, Daryl?" Carol asked. "That I would—leave? That I would just—take Sophia and leave?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"There's different kinds of leaving, I guess," he offered.

Carol felt the impact of his words in her gut and she understood exactly what he was saying. He might not necessarily be concerned that she'd take her baby and walk away from the farm on her own, but he was concerned that she would leave him in another way.

She'd felt the same concern when she'd worried that Daryl might stay on the farm but decide to ignore her very existence.

She reached her hand over and rested it affectionately on Daryl's arm.

"I won't leave," she promised him. "And if I do—I'll be going with you." She winked at Daryl and his cheeks blushed pink. "Will that be fine with you?" She asked.

Daryl cleared his throat. He scraped the last bite of food from his plate and stuffed it in his mouth.

"It would be alright with me," he said. "If—it's what'cha want."

Carol didn't say anything else about the matter. She was sure they'd revisit it later. Perhaps, knowing the number of voices that the two of them contended with, they'd revisit it many times and in many different forms. There was nothing else to say at the moment.

Carol offered Daryl her plate and he tried to push it back.

"I don't want it," Carol said. "And Sophia's going to prefer a jar of baby food when I get in there to feed her."

"You oughta eat it," Daryl said. "Protein's good for you an' you gotta make her some milk."

"I've had plenty," Carol said. "Really," she assured him. Somewhat reluctantly, Daryl accepted the plate and put his own empty plate underneath it. Carol smiled at him when he started eating and he raised his eyebrows in question. "I just—appreciate—that you worry about me," Carol said. "And that you worry about Sophia."

Daryl leaned around her to look at the baby who was sitting on the blanket, gnawing on a rubber toy. He smiled to himself and then looked back at Carol. She very nearly shivered at the intensity of his expression.

"Always," he said just before turning to back to his food to make it clear that he considered there to be nothing more to say on the matter.

And for the time being, Carol respected his wishes. She didn't say anything. She simply offered him a smile and a gentle squeeze of the arm before she got up to get a jar of baby food from their supply tent.


	35. Chapter 35

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **This one is a long one. I didn't have anywhere to cut it.**

 **There's also a warning here for reference to domestic violence, some slight depictions of violence against women (nothing too brutal, but I still like to mention it for some people's triggers), and some unwanted sexual suggestion/tension (though I will say that it's suggestion/tension and nothing really happens).**

 **I hope you enjoy the chapter. Let me know what you think.**

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There were always things to do and Carol wanted, more than anything, to be sure that they contributed plenty to the farm to help make sure that Hershel Greene didn't want to force them off his property—which he had every right to do.

They barely finished breakfast before Daryl went off to check some snares he'd set in the woods with the young man—Jimmy—in tow to help him carry back whatever he found. Carol immediately gathered as much of the mountain of laundry together as she was sure would hang on the clothes lines they'd strung some distance from the camp, and she'd set to washing it with Andrea's assistance, since everyone else seemed otherwise employed.

They heated the water at the fire near Carol and Daryl's tent, and they washed the clothes only a few feet from there where they could easily dump the dirty water into the field. Andrea entertained Carol while they worked and Carol watched Andrea because she worried about the fact that the woman, though recovered a great deal from the illness she'd suffered, simply didn't bounce back with the same speed that Sophia had. Andrea still got winded simply scrubbing a shirt, but she continued to scrub them despite the fact that a small handful of clothes left her breathing like she'd just run a marathon.

By the time they'd finished all the clothes that their lines were likely to hold, and had piled all the wet clothes in baskets to be hung, Daryl and Jimmy had reappeared on the property. Even from the significant distance between where they were and the rest of the camp, Carol could see that they'd gotten a deer in addition to the rabbits and raccoons that Daryl had expected from the snares.

She saw Patricia cross the yard to greet them, and she saw Rick cross the yard as well. Patricia, more than likely, was concerned about the food, but Rick would probably have more interest in something he wanted to discuss with Daryl.

"You want to talk about it?" Andrea asked.

Carol snatched her head back in Andrea's direction. For just a moment, she'd almost forgotten that the only thing that separated her from the blonde was the distance of the metal tub between the two foldable chairs they sat in.

Andrea was smirking at her and Carol immediately felt her face run warm. She smiled to herself and looked away to smile at Sophia who was playing happily on her blanket in the shade nearby.

"What exactly do you think there is to talk about?" Carol asked.

"If there's nothing to talk about, there should be," Andrea said. "I saw them, too, when they came out of the woods. The first thing he did was look over here. Scan the area. Find you. The first thing you did…"

"You saw them, too," Carol said. She wasn't genuinely trying to fight back, though, and Andrea knew that. "It's only natural that—we're accustomed to looking where the movement is. Especially near the woods."

"Fine," Andrea said. "You keep your secrets. For now. But I'm telling you, it's not much of a secret. Everyone knows it if they're not just too wrapped up in themselves to see what's happening around them."

Carol smiled to herself. She knew that everyone saw it. At least, they saw something. There was no secret that where Daryl went, Carol happily followed. And Carol, too, often found herself with a shadow if she struck off alone too long to do something. She enjoyed Daryl's company, though, and he seemed to enjoy hers.

He didn't seem to mind who knew it, either, even if he didn't exactly walk around crowing about it all day long. Carol preferred it that way.

Everyone saw it, even if they didn't know that she could still feel him when she closed her eyes and tried to conjure up the sensations of him touching her.

Carol had never had a girlfriend to share that kind of talk before. She'd never had much that she wanted to share, honestly. The closest she'd come was a little giggling and conversation over vibrators with Andrea at the rock quarry in Georgia. A part of her ached to simply tell the blonde everything—or maybe not quite everything. She would never tell anyone that it had been Daryl's first time. She was sure he might be sensitive about such things. Nobody needed to know that she took his virginity. All she needed to share was that it was the best she'd ever felt with a man, and she was still buzzing from it.

But she could hold it for now. She smiled at Andrea.

"For now," Carol said. Andrea narrowed her eyes at her, but there was no real venom in the expression.

"Fine," Andrea said. "Suit yourself."

"Go get something to drink," Carol said. "Sit in the shade."

"I'll help you hang the clothes," Andrea said.

"You've helped enough. I'll come and get you when these are dry and we're ready to wash again. Go sit in the shade. Don't use up all your energy right away."

Andrea accepted what Carol said. She got out of the chair, offered Carol a hand to get out of her chair, more as a gesture of friendship than of actual real assistance, and stopped by the blanket to coo over Sophia a moment before she walked back toward the populated area of the camp to get water from the RV and satisfy Dale by staying still and in his sight—working her way through a book that she'd been reading to pass the time it took for her lungs to heal.

Carol checked on her daughter and then cast another glance toward the people who were milling about. Everyone that she could see at least appeared to be busy doing something. Near the woods, some distance away, Daryl and Rick were engaged in what appeared to be a serious conversation. Daryl stood, listening, with his hands on his hips. Rick gestured somewhat wildly with his words. From Daryl's posture, Carol could tell that, however serious the conversation, it was really nothing she needed to be concerned about. It was something that immediately involved Rick more than anyone else.

Carol moved Sophia and her blanket closer to the clothes lines so that she could see her with a quick glance no matter where she was among the hanging clothes, and then she set to work pinning up items to dry. It was easy work and there was something relaxing about it. Carol could really let her mind wander while she hung the clothes, and it didn't take long before she lost herself in the rhythm and repetition of it all.

Carol didn't hear anything except the satisfied sounds of Sophia who was trying out the different octaves of her voice while she babbled and played.

Carol sucked in a shocked breath when she turned from hanging one item to tug another from the basket beside her and practically ran into a wall of Shane Walsh. There was something about Shane that usually sped up Carol's pulse—and not in a good way—but whatever it was that usually affected her was amplified at the moment.

There was something in Shane's eyes and the way that he carried his body that told Carol this hadn't been the best morning for Shane. She could feel the tension radiating off of him. She could smell something, too. A faint odor that told her Shane may have already tried to douse a few of his tensions in something that smelled like cheap whiskey. The smell, itself, turned Carol's stomach a little. Shane was unpredictable and, at that moment, he felt even more unpredictable.

Carol realized what it was that kicked her pulse up a notch. By now, her instincts knew to be very afraid of unpredictable men.

Carol glanced at Sophia. The baby was fine. She was blissfully unaware of anything that was going on that didn't involve the rubber dinosaur that was soothing her teething complaints for the moment. Shane hadn't touched her and, even though he was between Carol and her baby, she was determined that he wouldn't touch her—no matter what he had in mind.

"Shhh…" Shane hissed. He held his hands up to Carol to try to calm her from the surprised of seeing him there when she didn't expect it. "It's alright. I just need to talk to you, Carol." His voice had the assumed softness that they must have taught police officers everywhere. Carol had heard it every time that someone had been called to her house to handle a problem between she and Ed.

"I don't know much we need to talk about," Carol offered. "Your laundry will be done with everyone else's."

"This isn't about laundry," Shane said. Carol already knew that, but she pretended to be surprised. Shane seemed to relax a little. He smiled at her. Even his smile made her hair stand up. He reached both hands out and affectionately rested them on her shoulder. The weight of them there reminded her of when Ed would do something similar—especially in public—to remind her. Just to remind her.

"I don't know anything else I need to talk about," Carol offered. She glanced toward Sophia. She knew the baby was fine, but she needed to reassure herself again that she was still content to chew on her dinosaur. Shane followed her glance. He smiled at Sophia again.

"She's a pretty little girl, Carol," Shane said. "Like her Mama." One of the hands left her shoulder and touched her cheek. Suddenly her breathing felt as labored as Andrea's had sounded. She hoped she was misreading signals, but she had a feeling that she wasn't.

"She's alive," Carol said. "Thanks to Daryl."

The barb struck Shane. She saw it on his face. He wasn't happy with the words, but he was able to erase that quickly. Being a cop seemed to have taught both him and Rick how to do that—their expressions and the moods they radiated could change in an instant. That made them both unpredictable.

"I know you think he's some kind of savior," Shane said.

"He saved Sophia," Carol countered.

"And I know you're thankful for that," Shane said. "But—you don't know what kind of man he is, Carol. I've seen men like that. Years on the force—do you know how many men like Daryl I've seen?"

"I've never seen anyone like him," Carol offered. "But I have seen a lot of police officers."

"Always saving you from Ed," Shane said.

"Always sending me right back out into things—with an apology and a piece of paper," Carol said. "Paper might beat rock, but…it never beat Ed."

The squeeze he gave her shoulder was meant, perhaps, to feel good. It was meant, perhaps, to relieve some of her tension. It felt more ominous than anything.

"I stopped him for you," Shane said. "You remember that, Carol? I stopped him for you. That was for you."

"If he had lived…" Carol said.

"I would have stopped him again," Shane said. "Because I wanted to protect you. Even then." He glanced back toward Sophia again. He smiled in her direction and let the smile stay on his lips as he turned back to Carol, one hand still resting on her shoulder. He moved his thumb, brushing the pad of it across the skin at her collarbone and neck. "You have a beautiful daughter. And you're that kind of woman, Carol. I know what kind of woman you are…"

Carol focused on her breathing.

Something had happened. Carol didn't know what, but something had happened with Lori.

And with Andrea somewhere between dead and fully alive, Shane had already cut her loose and left her for dead. He'd discarded whatever it was that had bubbled up between them and lasted for little more than the time it had taken him to relieve some tension. Everybody knew about it, of course, but nobody talked about it. The practice wasn't uncommon in their group.

So Shane was there, between rows of hanging laundry, with his hand on Carol's shoulder. He was caressing her neck with his thumb—something that felt like he meant it to be both familiar and a warning.

"I don't think you know what kind of woman I am," Carol said.

His fingers pressed into the back of her shoulder as he flexed his hand. She saw his jaw tense. He wasn't used to not getting what he wanted at the very moment he wanted it. Like a spoiled child, he didn't handle it well.

Carol knew that most men had a little child still trapped within them. She'd met them in various moods and she'd found the little boys wanting and needing different things. She knew, too, what happened when spoiled little boys trapped in men's bodies threw tantrums.

Shane's thumb brushed her throat. It was a gentle touch, but she was aware of the size of his hand next to her windpipe.

"You're the kind of woman that has a beautiful little girl," Shane said. "Probably—wants a family. A husband. A few more kids?" Carol didn't respond to him. She set her jaw and waited him out. "Daryl's not that kind of man. He's not a family man, Carol. He's volatile." Carol resisted the urge to tell Shane that she feared his volatility a great deal more than Daryl's. She found Daryl's somewhat predictable. "You see how he—runs off when he can't handle things. You think he's going to be able to handle everything? Everything this world throws at him? This isn't a world for a man like Daryl and he's never going to be able to survive it. He certainly won't be able to keep a family alive."

"He's already surviving it," Carol said.

"He won't be able to do what he needs to do to keep you safe," Shane said. "Sophia. He won't keep you safe."

"But you—will?" Carol asked, her stomach churning.

"I'm a family man," Shane said. "Deep down."

"I bet you are," Carol thought. "As long as it's someone else's family." She didn't dare to say the words, though. The boy was beginning to escape. She caught glimpses of him in Shane's tight jaw and the vein in his forehead. Carol didn't say anything. She didn't say anything until the hand tightened to hold her in place, the other found her face and, before she could even try to pull herself free, Shane's lips were on hers. "Get off me!" She struggled to get out from behind the force of his lips. She shoved him as hard as she could and he stepped back a half a step, but he didn't let go of her. She pulled at his wrists, trying to fully free herself. Now her heart was thundering in her chest.

"Carol—you gotta listen to me," Shane said.

"I don't have to listen to anything!" Carol said.

One of his hands released her only enough to quickly grab at the back her head. He discovered quickly the same thing that Ed had discovered when she'd shaved her head the first time. There was nothing to hold onto and she twisted to try to slip his grip. She was better at that, after all, than most women. She had more practice.

He caught her arm as she slipped away and snatched her back, twisting her shoulder. She cried out, but he muffled most of it by getting his hand over her mouth and holding her tight against his body.

Shane was stronger than Ed had been.

Carol struggled to talk against his hand, but he simply held her. As she stopped struggling, his hold loosened, so she forced herself to relax. She forced herself to breathe as well as she could with his hand clamped over her face. As she grew still and quiet, he loosened his grip a bit more and pressed his face against hers so that his breath blew right against his ear. She could smell what he had drank on his breath.

"I don't wanna hurt you," Shane said.

The words made Carol's stomach turn and she swallowed against the sudden urge to vomit.

She tried to speak against his hand again, and Shane slid his fingers down her face slowly. She knew that he was doing that so he could clasp his hand over her mouth again, quickly, if the need arose. He was giving her some freedom, but not too much.

"Please," Carol said, keeping her voice low, "don't hurt Sophia."

Shane laughed. It wasn't genuine. He was struck, perhaps. He returned his face to the position that it had held a moment before.

"I'm not going to hurt Sophia. I don't want to hurt anyone. Carol—I'm talking to you for your own good. I only want you to listen to me. That's all I want…"

The force with which he was holding her told her that she would listen to him or choose to have her shoulder broken or dislocated in an attempt to escape. Even as he spoke, he tightened his hold on her arm. His hand came back up to tickle the skin at her throat in an overly-familiar way and she felt him press his lips against her neck. She imagined, held tight against him, that she could feel something else—but she pushed it out of her mind.

"Daryl is bad for you," Shane said. "He can't do what needs to be done. You need someone who—can do what needs to be done. He's willing to let you and Sophia both live right up under more Walkers than you can even count. He's willing to let them tear you both apart because he's too afraid—he's too damn afraid—to save you."

Carol sucked in a breath. She filled her lungs with air now that his hand was away from her mouth.

"But you would save me," Carol said. "Us."

She felt Shane relax a little. The little boys always liked to hear what they wanted to hear.

"I would," Shane said. He brushed his lips against her neck again. This time he nuzzled her. He nipped her ear. Instead of jerking away in disgust, Carol swallowed against that disgust and forced herself to hum at him like she enjoyed the touch.

"You want a family," Carol said. "You want to be—a family man."

"I could give you what you need to have a family, Carol," Shane offered.

Carol closed her eyes. Shane wasn't entirely lying. He did want to be a family man. That much was clear. The problem was that he hadn't found someone to build a family with—someone who didn't already have a family. And, now, Carol was almost certain that part of the problem was that it likely didn't take women very long to figure out that there was something to Shane that he kept hidden when it was convenient. She bit her lip against the pain radiating through her shoulder.

"Families are dangerous," Carol said. "Babies cry. The Walkers…"

"The world's going on, Carol," Shane said. He practically growled it into her ear. "Babies are part of life. They just keep coming."

Something had changed his mind dramatically since he'd given speeches about Sophia's loudness. Suddenly, it seemed, Shane was looking for a family—a woman, a child perhaps, and a maybe even a vessel to carry more. And someone had already angered the child inside him.

"The Walkers," Carol said.

She didn't have to say more.

"Daryl won't do what needs to be done to keep you safe," Shane said. "Nobody will. The whole place is at risk because of a barn full of Walkers."

"But you will…"

"I'll get rid of them," Shane said. "Then we'll go. Find something better."

"Everyone…"

"Doesn't matter," Shane said. "Not a damn one of 'em would do what they need to do to save themselves. If they want to die, we have to let them die. We can't stay here, though."

"Why me?" Carol asked.

Shane was silent for a half a minute. He hadn't prepared an answer to that question. Maybe he didn't even know the answer. More than likely, the answer was too practical and he didn't want to give it because it wouldn't do much for winning her over. Rick was back and had taken Lori away from Shane—not that she was ever rightfully his to begin with. He'd gotten what he wanted from Andrea, and he'd given her up for dead before requesting more. Without being fully healed, there was too much risk that she would simply die and leave him alone if he took her away from there. Patricia was newly widowed and there was much of the story with her husband that felt like it had never been told. Hershel probably wouldn't hesitate to unload a double barrel shotgun into Shane for his troubles if he touched his daughters.

Carol was the only one left. And she would do. She had everything he needed to build a fantasy.

But that didn't sound poetic.

"It was always you," Shane offered. Carol might have laughed if her brain wasn't firing a thousand miles a minute with every other possible thought that she could have.

"Let me go," Carol said.

His grip only tightened and Carol saw spots before her eyes. Her knees buckled slightly. He didn't know how many times that shoulder had been injured—or maybe he did. She panted against the pain.

"You have to listen to me," Shane said.

"I do," Carol said. "I am…I…need to get Sophia. I want to…the Walkers. When you open the barn? I need to keep her…"

"Safe," Shane said.

"Keep her safe," Carol echoed. He loosened his grip. "And you'll keep me safe."

He turned her around. He let go of her arm in that position and he turned her around. He caught the upper part of her arms to hold her in front of him, fingertips digging into her skin, but she had more freedom.

"I can do what needs to be done," he said.

And Carol nodded her belief and let him kiss her. For a second, she returned the kiss with everything she had. She returned the kiss like she meant it. Because he relaxed into the kiss. He trusted the kiss. He believed it. He loosened his hold on her because a woman that kissed him with that much conviction was his—to have and to hold and to do with as he pleased.

That was the difference between Ed and Shane. Shane wasn't as well-practiced as Ed had been. He didn't know the tricks.

He never even saw the hard knee to his groin coming before Carol had dropped him to the ground.

She screamed even as she dodged him, making sure he couldn't grab at her. She screamed as she scooped up Sophia against the protests of her arms and shoulders—her screams scaring the baby who didn't realize anything was going on—and she screamed as she ran back toward the camp to draw the attention of everyone who had never realized there was anything going on just outside of their immediate surroundings.

She screamed until Daryl stopped her, his arms wrapping around she and Sophia both in a very different way than Shane's had.

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 **AN: I know it's a heavy chapter. Things will somewhat go with canon, but of course they won't go exactly with canon. There's will be a few things to unpack from that, but there's also going to be a lot more than happens as we move closer to the end of our time on the farm.**

 **Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!**


	36. Chapter 36

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **Please remember that this is big sort of arc (I guess that's what you'd call it) that we're kind of stepping into here and it won't all be cleaned up within the span of one chapter.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol couldn't even begin to put the words together properly in order to explain what had happened before Shane drew the whole group's the attention to himself. Carol's head was swimming with the adrenaline rush of having gotten away from him. Her heart was still pounding, her breathing hadn't evened out, and the blood was rushing in her ears. For a split second, she almost felt like she was outside of herself and the entire thing had happened to someone else. She almost felt like, even then, she was only halfway inside her body.

But as she calmed enough to begin to stammer out some explanation of what had happened to her—something to help them understand that it hadn't been a Walker or some other predatory animal that had spooked her— and as she'd started to realize that her screaming had successfully drawn the attention of nearly everyone, with the crowd now gathering around her and probably expecting an explanation that wasn't at all like the one she had to offer, Shane had yelled at them to make sure they heard him.

He wanted to make sure that they saw him.

Carol saw him, too.

Shane was yelling at them, moving toward the barn. Almost entirely out of instinct, they all started to move in that direction. Even Carol moved with them and forgot that she meant to tell them what had happened.

Carol didn't know if the duffle bag that Shane carried had been on the ground nearby the clothes line or where he'd left it. She hadn't noticed it when she'd run away from him, but she'd been so wrapped up in the thought of getting away from him and getting Sophia away from him, that she could have very well stepped over the thing without even realizing that it was there.

Carrying the large bag slung over his shoulder, and yelling out as loudly as he could and more than a little erratically, Shane shuffled in the direction of the barn with movements that resembled those of a rabid and wounded animal.

Carol was a little disappointed to see that, though her knee had surely made its mark, it hadn't been enough to cripple him for as long as she might have hoped.

She moved instinctively with everyone else, especially when she realized that Shane was yelling about the Walkers. He was yelling about the barn. He was yelling about the fact that none of them were man enough to save themselves and, for that, they were all going to die because they were living in the dangerous path of Walkers.

Carol's heart was pounding—now for more reason than it had been before. She was almost certain that Shane was more dangerous than a chained barn full of Walkers.

"Don't you do it!" Daryl yelled, breaking entirely away from Carol and the rest of the group as he realized what Shane was doing. He bolted in Shane's direction, but there was a fair amount of ground left for him to cover before he reached the man.

"Don't do it! Brother! Shane!" Rick yelled, breaking away only a second after Daryl to try to reach Shane before he could do exactly what they predicted he would.

Everyone else moved along at slower speeds either because they knew that they couldn't stop Shane if they reached him, or because they hadn't fully taken in the gravity of the situation.

Ahead of everyone, Shane gained his legs a bit more and gained a bit more speed. He dropped the duffle bag, open, on the ground. He snatched a gun out of it. He closed the distance between himself and the barn and he rattled the doors, hard, still yelling at all of them about their foolishness and their determination to die needlessly for the sake of keeping a crazy old man happy—a crazy old man who was yelling from some distance away because he, like most of them, hadn't started running yet.

Daryl and Rick both stopped short by the bag of guns. They both practically skidded to a stop in the dirt like the duffle bag had created something of an invisible barrier. They froze as Shane fired the weapon he was holding—another one clearly waiting as it hung suspended from his belt—at the door. The lock fell to the ground and Shane snatched the chain free before he raised the bar on the barn doors to open them.

He never heard Rick's protests. He never heard Daryl yelling at him and accusing him of some form of acute insanity.

He just turned around and yelled at them all that they better start shooting if they even had enough will to live that they would bother to save themselves.

Everyone froze and stared in disbelief as the wave of Walkers spilled out of the barn. They came quickly and in a bunch. There had been enough noise to stir them up and there was no telling when they'd last had a good meal. Stepping out of the barn, they immediately started toward everyone that was coming toward them in a wave.

Shane walked away from them and fired at one of the Walkers.

"If they were people," he said, clearly speaking to the old man who had reached the invisibly barrier created by the gun bag, "would they keep comin'?" He fired at the Walker again. The second bullet slammed into the Walker's chest only an inch or two from where Shane hit it the first time.

"Stop!" Hershel yelled at him, his voice blending with Daryl and Rick's as they pleaded for Shane to do the same thing.

"Why's it keep comin'? That's two rounds in the chest. Enough to stop the biggest, baddest motherfucker that wanted to come after me. So why does it keep comin'?" He fired off another bullet and the bullet struck the Walker in the skull. The Walker crumpled to the ground just before it reached Shane. "Keeps comin' because it ain't alive! It don't have feelings! It don't want nothin' but to tear every one of you apart! And that's what the hell they're gonna do if we don't stop them!"

Whether or not they wanted to put down the barn full of Walkers, it became increasingly clear that Shane had taken away their choice in the matter. The Walkers were coming, now that they'd been freed, and there would be no getting them back in the barn. They were nearing the invisible line drawn in the sand by the bag full of guns and their proximity snapped some people into action.

Carol didn't feel confident with a firearm. She especially didn't feel confident, at the moment, when her arms hurt to even hold her daughter and she was certain that her entire body was shaking from the rush of chemicals her brain had put out in response to everything happening around her.

Rick armed himself, though, and Daryl pulled the gun from his hip that he'd worn out when he'd gone hunting—a just in case protection item that he took to go with the crossbow that he was still wearing. Andrea took a gun, T-Dog took a gun, and Dale armed himself. Glenn rushed forward to pull a gun from the bag and, together, they started to work at picking off the Walkers as they rushed toward them. Shane, too, from a different direction than the rest of them took down one Walker at a time with the guns he'd chosen.

Carol watched from where she stood, some distance behind the line of shooters, and hugged Sophia against her. Hershel and his people watched, too. In the time it took for them to put the Walkers down, he'd hit knees with his arms wrapped around his youngest daughter. His oldest daughter held onto him for support as she stood behind him. Patricia, too, stood with a hand on the old man's shoulder, and the young man, Jimmy, stood with his mouth open not far behind them.

One by one, the Walkers dropped, until even the last had fallen into the spread-out pile of bodies.

For a moment that felt like an eternity, after the last one fell, everyone gathered simply stared at the fallout from what had just happened. Then Hershel's youngest daughter broke free from her father's grasp and rushed into the pile of still and fallen Walkers. Despite the loud protests that she leave the bodies alone, she stepped through them, sobbing, and chose one Walker in particular to tug into a more convenient position.

Carol's heart ached when she heard the girl's sobbed words—a variation of the same thing repeated over and over again.

"Mama…mommy…mama…"

Carol's heart nearly stopped, too, when the Walker that they'd thought was dead found a new surge of energy and grabbed for the girl, snagging her hair and gnashing its teeth at her. Daryl had waded into the pile of Walkers by then to check for Walkers who weren't quite dead. In reaction to the girl's screams, he snatched a pitchfork from where it leaned against the side of the barn, and he slammed the points of the pitchfork through the Walker's head to free the frantic teenager.

As soon as she could gain her feet, she took off. She ran past all of them. She ran past Carol. Patricia followed her and her sister came close on their heels.

The rest of them stood, all staring at each other, because nobody knew what to do. Nobody knew what to say.

And it had been Shane that had started all of it. Shane—who was walking around, pacing the ground around the fallen corpses, caging.

It had been Shane who had, only moments before, held Carol against her will—even though she'd practically forgotten what happened in the chaos of the moment.

"I want him off my farm!" Hershel yelled, getting to his feet.

The words struck Carol because, even though he'd said the same phrase several times already, she was almost certain that he was serious this time like he'd never been serious before.

"Hershel…" Rick started, trying to reach the old man and soothe things over. They both passed by Carol as Hershel went as quickly as he could toward the farmhouse.

"I want you all of my farm!" Hershel yelled. "Every last one of you! I've done nothing but help you! Give to you! You have no respect for me! You have no respect for my farm! You have no respect for my family! I won't have you here anymore! Get off my farm!"

"Hershel—you gotta listen," Rick declared, practically begging. Carol's stomach churned as the words reminded her of what Shane had said to her not long ago. She wondered if it was something that all police offers said to try to get what they wanted out of someone who had no desire to listen to them.

"I've done enough listening!" Hershel declared. He bypassed the house and headed straight for a farm truck. "I want you off my farm! When I get back, I want you gone! Everyone of you, or I'll get you off my farm myself!"

Rick fell back. Hershel didn't stop his forward progress. He went directly to the farm truck and opened the door. He climbed inside and slammed the door shut. Apparently, the keys were in the truck because the engine roared to life and he drove it down the driveway quickly enough to kick up dust in every direction as he went.

"We should help them deal with their dead. If they even want our help. Then, I guess we should start packing up," Dale said.

Carol turned to look at him. Andrea was a half a step behind him, still breathing heavily from everything.

"We should wait," Rick said. "Give him time to cool down. He probably didn't mean it. He's just—he's just upset. It's a lot to take in. Some of those were his family. His friends. He knew them. It's just—it's a lot to take in. We should give him some time cool down. He probably didn't mean it. He'll change his mind."

"I think he meant it, Rick," Dale offered. "And he's not wrong. We've done nothing but disrespect his wishes since we got here. Some of us, at least. It's Shane that caused this, Rick. He's a loose cannon."

Carol glanced in the direction of the barn. Slowly everyone had left the piles of downed Walkers—content that they were all as dead as they could be and weren't likely to rise again. Daryl had left the Walkers too, and he had almost reached where they were all beginning to huddle around Rick.

Shane was the only one that was still out near the barn—still caging like some kind of animal.

"Couple damn screws loose!" Daryl yelled at no one in particular, probably piggybacking on what Dale had said. Dale's words, no doubt, had carried at least far enough for Daryl to hear them.

Daryl was headed straight in Carol's direction. She hugged Sophia to her and kissed the side of her daughter's head because it soothed her. Sophia, for her part, didn't need soothing. She was surprisingly calm given everything that was going on. She was, perhaps, simply overwhelmed and, therefore, wasn't reacting in any way.

"Fuckin' crazy, Rick!" Daryl declared, closing the gap. "You gotta do somethin' about your fuckin' partner!"

Carol's heart was beating loudly enough that she was sure that Daryl could hear it as he reached her. His arm touched her back a second before he wrapped his arm around her shoulder to offer the comfort that he'd never finished offering before.

Carol and Sophia were calm, so he knew the immediate danger was out of the way, but he hadn't entirely forgotten that, before all of this, Carol had come, screaming and running, toward them all.

"Hey—you alright now?" He asked. He squeezed her shoulder affectionately. Carol hissed at him. She would have swallowed back the reaction if she'd expected his touch and the pain that would follow, but she'd prepared for neither. "What's wrong?" He asked suddenly, searching her face with a furrowed brow. "What the hell happened?"

"You better go after him…" Maggie called from the porch. "You did this. You better not leave him out there alone. And you better do something with your friend—or I will."

Daryl ignored Maggie. He left Rick to deal with her. He shook Rick off, too, when Rick's hand closed on his shoulder and Rick requested his assistance in dealing with everything he was facing.

"What's wrong?" Daryl asked again, making it clear to Carol that he was going to keep his face inches from hers until she responded. The urgency kicked up in his voice and, with it, there was a hint of anger that came from his clear anticipation that he wasn't going to like whatever she told him. "What happened?"

Carol shook her head.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "You need to go. Help Rick. Get Hershel. See if—he'll let us stay on the farm."


	37. Chapter 37

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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The decision to take Shane with them was born mostly from Rick's need to keep an eye on his best friend when he felt that Shane was in the midst of some kind of breakdown caused by the stress that they were all enduring on a nearly daily basis. When they'd left in the SUV, Shane was handcuffed in the backseat, but he seemed to have calmed. He left declaring that he was fine and could be released. Carol had no idea whether or not they kept the man cuffed or what they might have done with him once they'd left the farm. She certainly wasn't sad to see him go, though, and she decided that she wouldn't be too upset if he never returned.

Rick, Daryl, and Glenn were following Maggie's instructions on where to find her father. The town where they were going was said to be overrun with Walkers, though Carol was having a difficult time imagining anywhere in the world that wasn't too overrun right now. The lack of Walkers in their direct vicinity, after all, seemed to be contributed to the fact that someone was trapping them all in Hershel's barn.

With the three of them gone and Shane taken in tow, there were few people left behind to figure out what to do. They weren't packing up camp because, even if Hershel was serious about forcing them back out onto the road, they couldn't leave without their group members. Hershel's family—and Patricia and Jimmy besides, who weren't his actual family members—were reluctant to make any decisions about the corpses without Hershel's input. Even if they'd wanted to bury them, though, they lacked the manpower to make that happen immediately. Instead of trying to bury or burn the corpses, all available hands dragged the bodies into the barn and piled them up. At the very least, they could shut the barn door to lessen the stench and to keep natural predators from being drawn to the farm in search of still and rotting flesh—something those predators were probably lacking a great deal in their diets since the dead had taken to moving about so often.

Carol could imagine that what Hershel's loved ones were going through was a kind of second grieving.

Their loved ones had died. Friends, family, neighbors—they had lost everyone with the epidemic, just like everyone else had. The difference, of course, was that, while some of them had simply started the hard part of mourning their dead and grieving their losses when they'd actually lost their loved ones, Hershel's family unit had been living in denial that their loved ones could be restored to life. The loss was temporary. Maybe it was never truly felt. Now they couldn't believe, any longer, that their loved ones were coming back. They were gone and there was true mourning to be done.

Carol was sure that it was difficult. And most of Hershel's family was responding to their grieving by locking themselves away in the spaces they called their own in the sprawling farmhouse.

With Lori and Andrea's help, Carol had prepared a meal and delivered the food to the rooms of those who were grieving. They'd decided not to disturb anyone for the remainder of the night. When their group was finished eating, Carol had packed up some of the food to take back to her tent for Daryl to eat whenever he returned. Then she'd helped clean up the farmhouse and she'd gone out to pump a few buckets of water. After her bath, she left two buckets of water by the tent for Daryl.

After Sophia played and nursed and had her bath, she went down relatively easily. It had been a long and overly exciting day for her. She was as ready to sleep as any baby ever had been.

Carol entertained herself with one of the books that she snagged from Dale's RV, and she tried to ignore the churning in her gut that surrounded the thought of the group that was out there. It got later and later, and it was dangerous to be out too much after dark. There was strength in numbers, and they were certainly a capable bunch of people, but that didn't mean that Carol wasn't made nervous by the fact that they hadn't returned.

She was nervous, too, about when they returned. The bruises were already beginning to form on her arms and shoulders. They would get darker as the time passed into the following day. She could hide most of them with the sweater she'd tugged on to get her through her evening meal preparation and cleaning, but they weren't going to stay hidden forever. Besides that, she wanted to tell Daryl what happened. She wanted him to know about Shane—about the fact that the man was even less predictable than they already thought—and she wanted him to help her figure out what she should do.

But she could see the potential problems ahead.

And she feared the backlash that might happen. She feared the problems it might cause within their group.

But she wasn't going to be able to hide it from Daryl forever. He was going to see the bruises and he was certainly going to notice the fact that, even though she did her best to hide it, her shoulder was feeling the effects of Shane's mistreatment. The pain was getting worse, as well, after she'd pushed through the evening's work. She could hide her pain from those around her for a little while, but she couldn't hide it constantly, and Daryl saw her more than most.

Most importantly, she didn't want to hide it from Daryl.

He would be angry. She knew that. He would be angry with Shane. He would probably be angry with her. But whatever it was that was happening between them, because Carol wasn't sure what name to put with it at the moment, required some amount of trust and exchange. It was far too new for Carol to want to risk damaging it by trying to keep this a secret. Secrets, she knew, always came to light eventually.

And that was probably a bad truth for Shane, in more ways than one.

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Carol was snatched from sleeping to almost entirely awake at the sound of movement around her tent. She sat upright inside the tent and reached for the leather sheath that held the knife she kept near her side of the blanket. It wasn't a very good hunting knife—not as good as the one that Daryl wore at all times—but it would do and it had a well-fitting sheath that kept the blade covered in case Sophia were to somehow get to it before Carol could stop her.

More than anything, it made Carol feel a little more secure. That was why she'd happily taken it when Daryl had offered it out of the supplies he turned over from looking through a few cars on the highway.

It felt good in her hands as her heart pounded out a warning about the sounds.

It could be a Walker. It could be an animal scavenging for food or water. It could be a person.

Whatever it was, Carol was determined that she'd either kill it or injure it enough to make it run away. She was trapped in the tent with Sophia with the thing right outside, but she wasn't going to let it get in the tent.

Carol crawled forward, wincing at the shoulder that was growing stiffer by the minute, and slowly unzipped the tent flap. She tried to do it carefully enough that whatever it was outside wouldn't hear the zipper as it slipped along its tracks. She held her breath, too, so that her breathing wouldn't even alert the thing to the fact that she was awake.

The thing outside, though, anticipated her reaction.

"Carol—you awake?" Daryl hissed.

"Shit," Carol spat, quickly unzipping the door of the tent quickly. She lowered her voice to barely above a whisper to match his and avoid waking Sophia. "You scared me to death!"

"Couldn't exactly tell you I was here without wakin' you up," Daryl said. "Either way—you was about to be scared."

"I can warm your bath water," Carol offered.

Daryl laughed. Carol could see his silhouette and nothing more. It was dark and there were barely even lights in the sky.

"I'm already washing," he said. "Cold feels good anyway."

"You're naked just standing in the—in the yard? In the open?" Carol asked.

"Can you see me?" Daryl asked.

"No," Carol admitted. She understood what he was saying. It was dark and she was right there at him. If she couldn't see him, then someone at their little camp certainly couldn't see him.

"Then what I gotta hide for?" Daryl asked.

"I don't think you have any reason to hide anyway," Carol teased. "You've certainly got nothing to be ashamed of."

"Asshole," Daryl said. There was a hint of humor in his voice and Carol smiled to herself. She'd never really thought of the word as a term of endearment, but that's what it sounded like. It sounded good to her after everything that had happened that day.

"Is everything OK?" Carol asked. "You were gone so long…"

"Long fuckin' night," Daryl growled. Carol heard him move around. He was drying off. He'd clearly found the towel and clothes she'd left at the entrance of the tent they called their supply tent. "Got to the place and it's a long drive from here. Find Hershel an' all hell breaks loose."

"What do you mean?" Carol asked. "Shane?"

"Shane was fine," Daryl said. "For the most part, he didn't say shit or do shit. Until he wanted to force the old man outta the bar 'cause he ain't wanted to leave an' you know how Shane is. Wanted to heavy-hand the whole thing."

Carol's stomach twisted a little.

"Yeah," she said. "I—I know how Shane is." She hesitated a moment. She wanted to tell Daryl what happened, but she doubted this was the moment. They needed to sleep. The whole camp was asleep except, perhaps, for those who were just returning and trying to settle down.

It would keep until morning. There was no turning back time now and things were always easier to handle when it was light out.

Daryl came into the tent and Carol moved over to make sure he had room. Her eyes were adjusting more and more to the extreme darkness and she could make him out as he crawled among the blankets and zipped their door shut behind him. Her knife found its familiar spot off to the side. Daryl rested his hand on Sophia a moment—finding her in her corner on her blankets—and then he came to the area that he shared with Carol and settled a little.

"Did—you get Hershel?" Carol asked.

Daryl reached a hand out and touched her arm. His hand wrapped around her arm and she closed her eyes. There were so many bruises. Everywhere that Shane had touched her on her arms, he'd done so with an unnecessary amount of force. As time ticked on, she realized that it felt like every single point was a sore point of proof that his hands had been there in an unkind and unwelcome way.

But Daryl didn't know yet. He would know when the sun came up. He would know when Carol told him—when she woke him with something he wouldn't want to hear. But, at least, he'd have a decent night of sleep behind him and the rest he clearly needed and desired.

She came, like she knew he wanted, to lie beside him.

"He's back," Daryl said. "Run into some trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Carol asked. "Walkers."

"Walkers," Daryl gruffed. Carol didn't know if the light stroking on her arm was intentional or if he was only absentmindedly keeping his hands busy as he drifted off. She knew many of Daryl's habits and ticks from the amount of time they'd spent together, but she knew that she had a lot to learn, especially with some very new levels of familiarity in their relationship. "And then some…"

"Some what?" Carol asked.

"People," Daryl said.

"People?" Carol asked. "Like—good people?"

"Not quite," Daryl said.

"What happened?" Carol asked. Daryl shushed her. She realized he must have felt the tension in her body. His hand trailed over and Carol shivered at the soft touch as he brushed his hand over her breast. His thumb found her nipple and trailed over it, swiping gently back and forth, in the same way as he'd done with her arm. It wasn't really suggestive, but it still caught the interest of Carol's baser instincts and her body responded.

"Sorry," Daryl whispered when he felt the shiver. "Didn't mean to—just wanted to…touch you."

"You can touch me whenever you want," Carol offered softly. He moved his hand back to her arm, though. He was tired. He was probably exhausted. He hadn't wanted sex. He probably hadn't even wanted to suggest it in the slightest way to her body—a body that seemed naturally inclined to respond to every signal that Daryl sent it. He just wanted to touch her, and that simple thought brought a tightening to Carol's throat. She closed her eyes and accepted the gentle caress of his hand on her arms—so different than the touch her arms had suffered just earlier that day. "What happened with the people?" Carol asked.

"Shh," Daryl said. He hummed. "Don't matter. We'll talk about it in the morning." He moved his hand to her shoulder, near the crook of her neck, and squeezed. It was meant to be relaxing and affectionate. Carol controlled her verbal response to the pain that jolted through her like lightning, but she couldn't control the response of her body as it coiled up in reaction. Daryl sat up, immediately, on his elbow. "What is it?" He asked. There was sound behind his voice. Carol shushed him.

"Sophia," she said.

"What's wrong?" Daryl asked. "You hurt?"

"I'm fine," Carol said. "Let's get some sleep?"

"If you hurt…" Daryl started. He did settle down again, though, into his spot. He didn't touch Carol this time, though.

"I'm fine," Carol repeated. "I promise. We'll talk about it in the morning."

Carol was aware that Daryl didn't immediately go to sleep. Maybe he thought she'd change her mind. Maybe he was waiting for something else. Eventually, though, he did drift off to sleep, and Carol followed closely after.

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 **AN: I know some of you are impatient, but things happen when they happen. LOL Things have to be set up in the right order. Don't worry, Carol's going to talk to Daryl. There were things that needed to happen, first, for the future advancement of the story. Just have a little patience.**

 **I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!**


	38. Chapter 38

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl slept soundly. The events of the day before had clearly worn him out. He slept through Sophia's nighttime needs, and he slept through her earliest morning needs as well. Outside, Carol could hear the sounds of the camp waking up. People were moving around. People were starting to do things. She could smell at least one fire—probably Dale's—that was meant for either breakfast or coffee. Inside the tent, Carol had crawled around in their tent, changed Sophia, played with her, and was nursing her when Daryl started to stir. When he woke, as he often did, he grumbled a good morning and, without fully committing to being awake, he worked his way into his pants, pulled on his shirt, and crawled out of the tent to relieve himself. Outside, he took his time. He relieved himself. He smoked a cigarette. He came to terms with the fact that another morning was all around them.

And then he returned to the tent as practically a different person than the one that had crawled out moments before.

As soon as Daryl came into the tent, he glanced in Carol's direction and then started smoothing the blankets to make it more comfortable to spend part of their morning in the tent waiting for Sophia to be ready to start the day. Carol wanted to take this opportunity to talk to him, but she wasn't sure how to start. She'd pulled on her sweater in case she wasn't able to find a starting place. It was never easy to figure out how to start big discussions—especially since her gut always warned her off from them. Even though she knew Daryl wasn't Ed at all, Ed had still taught her that big discussions were potentially dangerous, and it was impossible to erase years of learned behavior in the passing of a few months.

She didn't have to think about it too long, though. As soon as he'd started smoothing the blankets, Daryl stopped and looked at her with a furrowed brow.

"What'd you do to your face?" Daryl asked.

Carol's pulse kicked up as she tried to remember what might have happened to her face. It wasn't as though she had a mirror, so she couldn't look. She eased her hand up, not wanting to do much to disturb her shoulder, and touched her face. It was sore when she pressed it.

Shane had clamped his hand over her face and only now she realized how hard he had truly been handling her. Undoubtedly, he'd left a bruise or two there.

"I—wanted to talk to you," Carol said.

"I'm listening," Daryl said. Carol couldn't tell if his voice was gruff because his vocal cords weren't yet fully awake, or if he'd already started to become irritated.

"Please—remember that Sophia is here," Carol said.

At the mention of her name, Sophia released her latch. She was nursing but, at this point, she was taking her time and was really using the act as an excuse to simply cuddle with Carol. It was the way she enjoyed the quiet before the storm most mornings, and Sophia seemed to look forward to it in the same way that many people looked forward to their morning coffee. Sophia glanced toward Daryl, and then she turned back and reattached herself to Carol before she sighed and closed her eyes.

"What happened, Carol?" Daryl asked. "I ain't gonna—forget Sophia's in here."

"Please don't be loud? OK? Don't scare her?" Carol requested.

"The more you askin' me these things, the madder I get," Daryl said. He was keeping his voice low and steady despite the fact that Carol could see evidence on his face that he was, as he said, starting to grow angry. She decided that it was best not to push him any further and not to let his imagination run away with him before she shared the truth with him.

"Yesterday when I…when everything happened with the barn? Before it?" Carol said.

"When you scared us all to death?" Daryl asked. "Snake or somethin'?"

Carol shook her head.

"It wasn't a snake," Carol said.

"Didn't you say it was a snake?" Daryl asked, furrowing his brow.

Carol shook her head.

"I think—Lori said snake. Maybe Patricia. Someone yelled snake, but it wasn't a snake. At least—not the kind you're thinking about."

A little of the color drained out of Daryl's face. He shifted around and changed his position. The one he'd chosen first probably wasn't too comfortable, and it was clear that he wanted a better position in which to listen to whatever she had to share with him.

Carol's stomach churned. She hadn't really thought about the words that she would use. She hadn't figured out exactly how she would convey to Daryl what had happened. Part of her made her think that, really, nothing had happened. There was no reason to even tell Daryl. There was no reason to make a big deal about it. Things could have been so much worse, but they really weren't. She was overreacting. The other part of her made her want to tell Daryl everything without even leaving out a single detail about how scared she felt and, simply, how bad she felt.

"Go ahead," Daryl urged. She was taking too long.

"I…" Carol hesitated. "I was hanging out clothes. I washed clothes with Andrea and I was hanging out clothes."

"With Andrea?" Daryl supplied, trying to help move the story along. Sophia gave up her nursing, done with the event, and Carol moved her around. She readjusted her shirt and did her best to help Sophia burp without letting her face give away too much of what her arms and shoulder were feeling. Daryl waited, patiently, until Carol put Sophia on the blanket covered floor of the tent to entertain herself with the scattered around toys. She started to slowly work at the buttons on her shirt.

"I sent Andrea back to Dale," Carol said. "She was tired. Breathing hard. I was going to hang up the clothes and then, later, we were going to wash some more. You were—talking to Rick. Sophia was on her blanket. When I turned around from hanging something up to get something else from the basket, Shane was there."

"Ravin' about the damned barn?" Daryl asked.

"Yes and no," Carol said.

"Shane put them bruises on your face?" Daryl asked. He shifted his weight. For a moment, the change in position looked almost like he was preparing to pounce or preparing to run. He settled back down, though.

Carol closed her eyes and nodded her head.

"He put his hand over my mouth," Carol said.

"Why the hell did he do that?" Daryl asked. His voice was elevated, but Carol could tell that he was trying to do what she'd asked. He was trying not to let Sophia know that anyone was too upset. Sophia wasn't too upset, either, because she responded to his slightly louder volume by happily yelling "Da" at him, over and over, and starting to scoot in his direction with the rubber toy she was teething on.

"He didn't want me to scream," Carol said.

"An' why the hell was he thinkin' you might be getting ready to scream?" Daryl asked. "Because—that ain't no normal damn reaction. I don't think you 'bout to scream right now. Musta been something that made him think that."

Daryl reached out to offer a hand to Sophia since she sometimes considered his hand as wonderful a toy as anything else they'd found for her. He'd wiggle his fingers for her entertainment, she could manipulate his fingers, and he'd let her teeth on him without complaint. As she requested, he was doing everything in his power to keep from scaring Sophia.

"He wanted to tell me…that you were bad for me," Carol said.

"Maybe he weren't wrong," Daryl said, his expression drooping slightly.

"He was wrong," Carol said quickly. "He was so wrong, but…he wanted me to…I don't even know, Daryl. He wanted me to run away with him. He wanted—he wanted to be a family man. Said he was a family man. He wanted a family."

"An' it just so happens you had one that he was thinkin' about takin' for his own?" Carol nodded. Daryl clenched his teeth, but quickly released the tension in his jaw. "Just how he fuckin' talks about Soph. The things he's said about her. Like…you know what the hell he's said about her."

"I know," Carol said. "I do. But yesterday? He wanted a family."

"He wanted you," Daryl said.

"He wanted a woman," Carol said. "I don't think it was me he wanted, Daryl. I think—I'm the only one that…he just wanted a woman. A baby. The possibility of more or something, he said."

Daryl looked deflated. For a moment, Carol could tell that he'd forgotten about the bruises entirely. He might have left everything that was happening in the tent. He'd gone somewhere else in his mind. He'd gone somewhere and thought about something that made him sad. His expression gave it away. Carol gave him a moment to process his feelings. She'd already processed hers, after all, and she wasn't upset. It wouldn't really matter how long it took before he knew the full extent of what had happened. It wouldn't change anything and Carol was no longer feeling the rush of emotions that she'd felt the day before.

When Daryl rolled his eyes back in her direction again, Carol saw the anger flash in his eyes once more and she saw his jaw tense.

"When he was puttin' his hand over your mouth 'cause he figured you'd scream over—over what? His fuckin' decision to take you as his family?"

Carol didn't point out to him that none of his words constituted a complete thought. She could pick out enough to know what was likely working its way through his mind as all the information was struggling to find a place.

"He put his hand over my mouth because—he kissed me, and I tried to run away," Carol said.

"He kissed you?" Daryl barked. Immediately he jumped at the loudness of his own voice. It startled Sophia and she stopped what she was doing to stare at him with her mouth open. She was deciding if she was upset and he rubbed his finger against her cheek and offered her a put-on smile that was enough to soothe her. "He do anything else, Carol?"

Carol sucked in a breath and held it. The emotions that she thought she had control over were starting to show themselves again. Maybe she hadn't managed to bury them down quite as deeply as she'd thought. She didn't try to hide her grimace, this time, as she moved around enough to push her sweater down. She didn't come out of it entirely. She wouldn't need to. He'd realize that there was more on the parts of her arms that the sleeves still covered. Carol didn't have a mirror, but she could see a good bit of the damage done there without one. She focused on her breathing and watched Daryl as he took it all in.

His expression was difficult for Carol to read. His eyes darted back and forth like he was taking in every square inch of her. His forehead was furrowed deeply and then it softened. For a split second, Carol thought he might cry. He brought the hand that wasn't playing with Sophia to his mouth and he troubled his thumb nail and cuticle with his teeth. Then his forehead furrowed again and his jaw flexed and he moved his hand.

"What'd he do?" Daryl asked. He practically growled out the words.

"He was drunk," Carol said. "He's crazy."

"I ain't asked you to defend him," Daryl said. His voice was low and steady, but everything had the sound of a low and throaty growl. "I asked what he done."

"He just—grabbed me," Carol said. "Twisted my arm and—and my shoulder. He held me there. Talked to me. He—kissed me. Kissed my neck. But, Daryl? I have to tell you that…I kissed him back."

"What?" Daryl barked.

"To distract him," Carol said. "I got him to let me go enough—I kneed him. In the nuts. Daryl—I guess the truth is it just scared me. It scared me because Sophia was there and he was drunk and I didn't hear him coming. Before I heard him, he was there and…I guess it just scared me. He didn't really do anything…"

"I'm lookin' at you an' that don't fuckin' look like nothin' to me, Carol!" Daryl said.

"I bruise easily," Carol said. "I always have. It looks worse than it is…Daryl…"

"What the hell would he have done if you ain't kneed him in the nuts?" Daryl asked. "Can you tell me that?"

"I don't know—probably would've let me go," Carol offered.

"Fuck…" Daryl growled. "The fuck he woulda…the fuck…"

Suddenly, it was clear to Carol that Daryl wasn't handling well what he knew. She tried to apologize to him. She told him she was sorry for starting his morning off like this. She was sorry for upsetting him. She told him she was sorry for kissing Shane. She was sorry for anything that was making him very clearly uncomfortable in his skin to the point that he looked like he might tear it off to run away from it.

And his only reaction was to leave her and Sophia there—Sophia who had decided that she was quite upset with the air in the tent and the noise and frustration, so she started to scream to express her displeasure—and to crawl quickly out of the tent.

By the time that Carol was able to gather up Sophia and get out of the tent herself, Daryl was halfway across the yard toward the camp. He was already drawing the attention of everyone that was involved in other activities. He was headed, at a half-lope, straight for the spot where Rick and Shane were standing on the ground talking to Hershel as he stood on his porch.

And his words, as he ran, made Carol's stomach ache and made her pick up her speed as she followed after him.

"Shane! Shane! I'ma beat your fuckin' head in!"

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 **AN: Patience everyone, there is a LOT to be unpacked here. It's far more than one chapter, but I'm fairly confident that you're going to enjoy it (if you like the story, of course).**

 **Thanks for being so enthusiastic and for letting me know that you're enjoying the story. I know that I often don't respond to reviews (in favor of writing more, honestly), but please know that I love them and I get so excited to see you excited!**

 **I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!**


	39. Chapter 39

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **As I said before, we have a great deal of stuff to unpack here. I thank you all for your enthusiasm. It's so contagious and I love it!**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"Daryl!" Carol called out, running to try to catch up to him.

If she caught him, she couldn't stop him, but she didn't want him to do anything foolish. She didn't want him to get hurt. Even if he were more than capable of hurting Shane worse than Shane might hurt him, he was still bound to get hurt in a fight—and Carol didn't want that.

"It's not worth it!" She called out. "Daryl! Please!"

Daryl ignored her, though, and spat a few more threats at Shane before he reached where Shane and Rick were practically waiting for him. He launched himself at Shane, but he was intercepted by Rick and Rick pushed Daryl backward, using Daryl's own momentum to put some distance between them.

"What the hell is your problem?" Shane spat from behind Rick.

"Just calm down!" Rick yelled. "Daryl! Just calm down!"

"I'ma break your fuckin' neck!" Daryl spat. "That's what the problem is! What you think? You think 'cause you was a cop that gives you a right or somethin'? Gives you a right to put your hands on people how the hell you like?"

Carol reached Daryl, then, along with everyone else who formed something of a semi-circle around the area. None of them knew what to do. They were all, like Carol, somewhat helpless. The situation had to be worked out, and that was all there was to it. Daryl, after all, wasn't listening to Carol's protests any more than he was listening to anyone else's.

"What the hell are you talkin' about, man?" Shane fired back.

"Son—just calm down," Hershel offered from the porch.

"I seen what'cha done to Carol!" Daryl barked. It was difficult to say if he was calming or not. If he was calming, he certainly wasn't calming a great deal and he wasn't doing it with any remarkable speed. Realizing he couldn't go straight to Shane, he turned and started off to the side like he might slip between Rick and the porch to get to Shane. Rick side-stepped and practically clotheslined Daryl to stop him from getting to Shane. Daryl half-heartedly fought Rick over the move. "I'm gonna kill him—so you can get outta my way or I'll kill you, too!"

"Daryl! This isn't how we handle things!" Rick yelled in Daryl's face.

Daryl backed up two steps, looked like he might be ready to rationally talk about things, and chewed at his cuticle. He kept his eyes on Shane, though, like he expected Shane to make some kind of move.

"Why don't you tell me what happened," Rick said. Carol knew the tone. It was the police officer tone. It was the tone that was meant to try to diffuse the situation. It was the tone that he would use before he started using brute force to get what he wanted.

"Look at Carol!" Daryl barked. He pointed back toward Carol. "Look at what he done to her! I know what'cha woulda done, too, asshole! If she hadn't rung your damned bell! I hope your fuckin' jewels is swole up like coconuts right now!"

"Hey! What the hell you talkin' about?" Shane barked back. "I haven't touched her!"

Carol noticed that Shane was strategically keeping his distance. He was remaining safely behind Rick and he was keeping even a few steps back from where Rick was standing. Shane was fully aware that Daryl, if he were given the chance, was going to try to make good on his promises.

"Show 'em!" Daryl yelled. He turned around to face Carol. He was panting from his exertions. "Take that sweater off. Show 'em!" 

"I can't," Carol said. "Sophia…"

"Help her!" Daryl barked at Andrea. Andrea jumped, clearly not expecting for Daryl to yell at her in that way, and she approached Carol. She said something that got lost in the chaos around them. Maybe it was an apology. Carol told her that it was fine—whatever she was doing was fine—and she accepted Andrea's help in delicately removing the sweater, one arm at a time, that she was wearing to reveal all the bruises in their quickly blackening glory.

She heard the reaction, too, though she kept her eyes closed a moment to avoid seeing the initial response.

"That's what he done! That's what he fuckin' done to her!" Daryl spat. "And I'ma break his fuckin' neck for it, too!"

His energy renewed with seeing the bruises, Daryl caged for a second. Then he started to try to make another move. This time, instead of going toward the porch where he'd be trapped in by the structure of the house, he darted to the side that was only protected by other group members. Dale stepped in his line like he might hold him back and Daryl stopped for a second.

"You better back up, old man," Daryl warned him. "I don't wanna hurt you, but I will if I gotta." Daryl turned and looked around, making a sweeping sort of eye contact with everyone surrounding him. "I will if I have to! That goes for all of you! You better back up! This don't got shit to do with you!"

"Take it easy," Rick said. "Take it easy…now let's just talk about this, Daryl."

"There ain't shit to talk about!" Daryl protested.

"He's crazy, man!" Shane offered from behind Rick. "He's fuckin' crazy. Look at him!"

"You're saying you didn't do that?" Rick asked.

Carol made eye contact with Shane a second—a half a second—and he rubbed his hand across his head in frustration. Behind Rick, he caged in a manner not entirely unlike the way that Daryl was caging in front of Rick.

"Man—why the hell would I do that? Why the hell would I—do that to Carol?" Shane asked. "You tell 'em, Carol—who the hell really done that you, huh? You gonna—you gonna tell 'em I done that to you?"

Carol swallowed. She felt all the eyes on her. She recognized his tone, too. She'd heard it before, though it had come out a different mouth. It was a threat, but it was only a threat to her. Nobody else would hear it. Nobody else would recognize it. Most of them hadn't been threatened in that way. Daryl might have been the only one that would recognize it for what it was.

"You said you wanted—a family," Carol said. "That I was that kind of woman. And you wanted a family."

Shane laughed. It was the kind of laugh that made the hair on the back of Carol's neck stand up on end.

"I wanted a family so I just—what exactly did I do to you, Carol?"

"You grabbed me," Carol said. "Twisted my arm behind my back…"

Her heart thundered in her chest. Her brain told her that what she was saying sounded more and more ridiculous as she said it. She realized that everyone was looking at her. She was faintly aware that Andrea was touching her. She thought she could feel her hands on her back. Sophia was drooling down her chest from teething on her hands.

And every word that Carol said sounded more and more ridiculous with Shane standing there staring at her like she was crazy. He told them as much.

"She's crazy," Shane said, laughing to himself.

"She's fuckin' hurt!" Daryl yelled. "You done it!"

"Look—Rick? Why the hell would I—do whatever I supposedly did to Carol because…because I wanted a family? No offense, Carol, but—she's not even my type. Rick—you know my girlfriends. She's not even my type. And if I wanted a family, why the hell would I go about it by—doing that?"

"Carol," Rick said, "what exactly happened?"

Carol recognized the tone. It was the police tone. It was still the tone that was meant to diffuse the situation. It was the tone that was supposed to calm her, but it made her feel five years old and foolish. She felt like she was choking. She felt like there was no air in her lungs, despite the fact that she knew that she was breathing.

"He grabbed me," Carol offered. Her voice barely came out. Her lungs ached. "He grabbed me and—he twisted my arm."

She was immensely grateful for the touch of Andrea's hand on the small of her back. She was thankful for the soothing feeling of the woman's fingertips as she scratched at Carol's back, clearly not knowing what else to do at the moment but wanting to offer something. It was grounding in a welcome way when everything else felt very uncomfortable.

"You're pissed off about Lori!" Daryl barked. "You're pissed off 'cause she's knocked up an' Rick's here an' you don't even know who the hell's kid it is, but Rick's here so you're shit outta damn luck!"

Carol felt like she'd been hit in the gut when she heard the words come out of Daryl's mouth. From the sounds around her, it was the first time that anyone else had heard such an accusation as well. As soon as Daryl said the words, though, Rick and Lori both had an invested interest in the exchange that hadn't quite been there before. Carol was almost certain there had to be some truth to the accusation.

"I know! I heard about her bein' knocked up yesterday!" Daryl yelled. "We was gonna have to think about it. Gonna have to make changes in the group! Make sure she got what she needed! An' you heard about it, too. You was pissed! So you thought you'd get Carol. Took it out on her when she ain't wanted you neither!"

"Daryl!" Rick protested.

"You're outta line, man! You're way fuckin' outta line!" Shane barked.

Suddenly it didn't look like Daryl was the only one who might be interested in a fight. Carol shifted her weight enough to see around Rick. She could see Shane. He wasn't wearing a gun. At least, he wasn't wearing a gun that could be seen, and he wasn't reaching for one. That was Carol's greatest concern. Rick was wearing a gun, but Shane wasn't. Daryl wasn't. Carol didn't want Daryl to think he was going after Shane in a fair fight when Shane was armed.

In her concern about the gun, Carol missed some of the exchange that was taking place. She missed some of the bickering back and forth between Rick and Daryl and Shane. She missed Lori's protests and the other interjections that were getting lost in the din of voices.

She only came back into the conversation when she heard Shane say something that included her name. She looked in his direction. He was still keeping Rick between himself and Daryl, but he was yelling directly at her now.

"Tell 'em the truth, Carol!" He goaded. "Tell 'em what the hell really happened! Tell 'em it was Daryl that did that to you and he's out here looking for someone to blame! Rick—look at him! He's a fuckin' animal, brother. He's an animal. You know him, brother! You know his kind! Fucked up and did what he did and now he's gotta cover it up somehow. Knew we'd see it and he's gotta cover it up somehow!"

"Shut your fuckin' mouth!" Daryl spat.

"You tell her what to say? Couldn't come up with anything better?" Shane goaded. "You knew she'd tell everyone whatever you told her to say! Tell 'em the truth, Carol. Go straight from Ed to Daryl—some people just make the same mistakes…"

Carol wasn't sure if Dale saw it coming or if he just happened to back up at the right moment, but he stepped quickly back and cleared enough space for Daryl to get between Rick and himself. Carol was pretty sure that Daryl wouldn't have stopped for Dale. In his anger, he might have plowed through the old man. He didn't stop for Rick, either. When Rick made a move to stop him, he shoved Rick out of the way with enough force that Rick had to regain himself to watch the interaction for a moment.

Daryl hit Shane with everything he had in him. Carol had never seen someone throw themselves as ferociously at someone else before—not even when Shane had taken his frustrations out on Ed's face.

Daryl was spitting curses at Shane, but Carol could understand none of them, and she doubted that anyone else could either.

Around her, nobody knew what to do. There was some screaming and yelling. There were some protests. But, for the most part, everyone seemed frozen for a moment in disbelief.

Rick made the move to try to break up the fight, but it didn't work. Daryl was too determined and Shane, when he decided to try to fight back, wasn't in the position to help Rick bring things to a close. Carol moved forward, but she had no idea how to help. Soon, she realized that Dale was holding his arm gently in front of her—across Sophia—to act as a barrier. Quietly, he was telling her not to go any closer.

The fight only ended when Rick pulled his gun. When he fired into the air, and his warning shot did nothing, he brought the butt of the gun into the fight. Carol screamed at him as it made contact with Daryl. The blow stunned Daryl, and succeeded in stopping the fight and getting him off of Shane, but it didn't knock Daryl unconscious. Instead, it only allowed for Shane to crawl backwards and away from Daryl and for Rick to get between them.

Carol rushed forward and, as carefully as she could to allow herself to balance Sophia on her hip as she moved, tried to bend down and mop at Daryl's face with her shirt. In her concern for Daryl, she did her best to ignore the fact that she had to grit her teeth against the pain in her shoulders that holding her daughter that way was causing.

Carol jumped when she felt hands on her shoulders. She didn't expect to turn and see Hershel standing there. While everyone was trying to figure out what to do and how to handle things, Hershel reached for Sophia. Carol allowed him to take her daughter and he passed the baby to Patricia before he touched Carol's shoulders again.

When he spoke, he surprised her by speaking softly. The softness to his voice, rather than being condescending like the officer voice they'd heard earlier, sounded sincere.

"Come on," Hershel said. "Come on. Let's go inside. We've got Sophia. Come on—let's get you all cleaned up."


	40. Chapter 40

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"Does he need stitches?" Carol asked, leaning over Hershel. At least she'd finally calmed down and stopped repeatedly apologizing to Daryl for breathing and, apparently, causing everything that was wrong in the world. He'd take her worry over her apologies any day.

The wound on Daryl's head—if it was really much of a wound at all—was clean now and bandaged.

"The bandage will be sufficient," Hershel assured Carol. "It only bled because of where it was. It's really minor. I don't think Rick was trying to hurt Daryl as much as he was trying to stun him to stop things from elevating. Let me see those hands again."

Daryl offered his hands over to Hershel. He'd washed them off once, but now he wanted to bandage them. Daryl hated to tell him that he'd only pull the bandages off again when they started to annoy him. His hands, after all, barely seemed to have time to heal before he was busting them open again—most often with a desire to rearrange the various bits and pieces that made up Shane's face.

He didn't know how Shane looked. He hadn't taken in much more than the blood and, even then, he couldn't be entirely sure if all the blood he was seeing had been his or Shane's.

He knew he got some solid hits in, though, and he felt like Shane had gotten in relatively few. Either that, or the rush of emotions kept Daryl from feeling the impact of Shane's punches.

"Look at Carol," Daryl offered as Hershel was finishing with his hand. He'd requested it more than once, but Hershel was ignoring him. "Her shoulder. Look at Carol." Hershel continued to ignore him.

"You're lucky you didn't break anything," Hershel said. "Still—those fingers are going to be sore. There's nothing to be done about it now. I can give you something for the pain."

"Don't bother," Daryl said.

"You don't have to suffer, son, needlessly," Hershel said.

Daryl flexed his possibly jammed fingers.

"Don't hardly feel it," he said. It was a lie. He felt it. Of course, he did. But he kind of liked the feeling. The soreness settling into his fingers was earned. He liked knowing that the fingers, although jammed, had been jammed against Shane's sorry face. "Look at Carol."

Hershel laughed to himself.

"I'm going to look at Carol, son," Hershel said. "You can stop reminding me. I always stop the bleeding first. It's in my training. You can get up. Carol?"

Daryl stood up and moved far to the side to give Hershel and Carol space. Rick had hit him in the head and, for safety, Hershel had asked that he not get the bright idea to take a nap for a little while. There was nothing else that could be done for him, though, at this moment. When Hershel beckoned, Carol came and gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. The whole ordeal had been wearing on her. Daryl was absolutely certain that she looked more exhausted and pained than he was. Hershel's hands immediately went for the shoulder that was troubling her and she let part of a cry escape her before she bit it back.

"Easy, girl," Hershel crooned. "Easy."

"She ain't a dog," Daryl said quickly.

Hershel laughed to himself. He patted Carol's other shoulder. He gently checked her elbows and wrists. Then he let his hands trail very gently down her back, but he was taking a moment before he moved back toward what was truly bothering her. Daryl knew exactly what he was doing her. He was soothing her very purposefully.

"You must forgive me," Hershel said. "I spent my life as a veterinarian. I don't mean anything by it. I assure you."

"I'm not offended," Carol offered. She visibly relaxed under the gentle stroking of the old man checking her vertebrae. Daryl saw that, recognizing her relaxation, Hershel continued the stroking long after he'd assured himself that nothing was terribly out of place there.

"People sometimes forget that—even though we may be at the top of the food chain and blessed with thumbs," Hershel said, keeping his tone even, "we're still really animals."

If he didn't know what Hershel was doing, Daryl might have wondered why the old man was being so careful and thorough in his gentle inspection of Carol. She visibly relaxed under the tender touch, though. His fingers must have found pressure points, because, for a moment, even her eyelids seemed a little heavy. From the outside looking in, Daryl saw what he was going to do just before he did it. By the time Carol realized what was happening, though, he'd already quickly moved her shoulder back into place.

She cried out, but the job was done. Daryl's stomach churned and his chest ached. He'd seen it. He knew it had to be done, but he still hated that she suffered even a moment more of pain.

"I'm sorry. I truly am. Subluxation," Hershel said. "At least it wasn't entirely dislocated. Have you damaged that shoulder before?"

He busied himself with a box that he'd brought in. He unlocked the box with a key on his keychain. When he opened it, Daryl realized it was filled with various kinds of medications. Daryl didn't know if it had always been locked, but he didn't figure it was a bad idea.

Hershel selected what he wanted and carried a glass, one that Patricia had brought him when she brought the box, into the little bathroom that connected to the bedroom. He ran the glass full of tap water and returned to gather up the medication.

"Are you allergic to anything?" Hershel asked.

"Not that I know of," Carol said.

"Let's hope you're not," Hershel said.

He circled around the bed and dropped several different sized pills into Carol's good hand before he offered out the water.

"Swallow those, please," he said.

Carol laughed to herself. Despite the fact that there were tears on her face, she was still able to find some humor in the moment.

"Or you'll roll them up in cheese and shove them down my throat?" She asked.

Hershel laughed at her humor.

"I might," he said. "Though I worked more with bigger animals and we tended to find other points of entry for medication."

Carol laughed and tossed the pills into her mouth.

"Point taken," she said around them as she reached for the water to wash them down.

"What'd you give her," Daryl asked.

"Anti-inflammatory," Hershel said.

"That was a lot of anti-inflammatory," Carol said, having clearly struggled a second to get the pills swallowed.

Hershel hummed.

"Everything go down OK?" He asked.

"Trust me," Carol said, "it went down. I don't need your help."

Hershel laughed and sat down on the edge of the bed beside Carol. He took the glass from her when she offered it and moved it to the nightstand.

"Anti-inflammatory and—pardon my French—one hell of a pain killer," Hershel said.

"I have things to do," Carol said, somewhat offended.

"You do," Hershel said. "You have to stay right here in this room with your daughter until some of what's going on outside this room blows over."

They had yet to actually speak about what had happened. Patricia had helped Hershel, all the while carrying Sophia around, and then she'd said something about taking Sophia for a treat in the kitchen. Hershel hadn't entertained any talk of what had happened. He'd gone straight to tending to problems as he saw fit.

"Daryl—would you give us a few minutes of privacy? Just—step outside the door? I'd like to—finish examining Carol."

Daryl's stomach twisted. He shook his head at Hershel.

"I'll leave—if that's what you want me to do," Daryl said. "But I know you're askin' me to leave 'cause you think she's gonna be too scared to talk with me in here. I know you think I done it, but…"

"I don't think you did it, son," Hershel said sincerely. "Not at all. I know what it looks like when someone—I know what it looks like when someone is guilty of something like this and when they're not. I'm no innocent, and I'm not a stranger to the after-effects of anger. I know the difference, as well, between real guilt and the fear of being caught." He laughed to himself and shook his head. "And don't forget, I was a veterinarian. I worked with animals. My patients couldn't tell me anything, but their body language told me everything. If you had done this, I would be able to read it in Carol's body language. I would be able to read it in yours." He shook his head. "She's more afraid that you'll leave the room than she is that you'll stay." He turned his attention to Carol. "You want him to stay?"

"I don't have anything to hide from him," Carol offered.

Hershel nodded.

"Feeling better?" He asked.

Carol nodded. Daryl could see something around her eyes. She didn't look sleepy, but she did look a little drunk, perhaps. The pain killer was starting to kick in with nothing in her stomach to impede it.

"Lie back?" Hershel asked.

Carol followed his commands and he pulled her shirt up just enough to reveal her rib cage and belly. There were a few bruises on her side. They were clearly fingerprints. Hershel worked his fingers around her rib cage.

"That's just where he held me," Carol offered. Hershel hummed at her.

He dropped his fingers to press her stomach and abdomen, testing the soft tissues for any kind of damage.

"He grabbed you," Hershel said. "Held you with—it seems a great deal more force than would have been necessary to restrain you."

"I was trying to pull away," Carol offered.

"As you would when someone is threatening you," Hershel said.

"He didn't actually threaten me," Carol said. "I guess—he never actually said he'd do anything to me. Not that I remember."

"He might have said very little," Hershel said. "But—anyone who feels the need to use this much force with someone is threatening them. Words or no words. He twisted your arm and shoulder. Did he do anything else? You can sit up now—if you want."

Carol did sit up. She used her good hand to rearrange her shirt. She was clearly feeling the need to treat the damaged shoulder with some tenderness.

"He kissed me," Carol said. "A…few times. I kissed him back, once."

She flicked her eyes in Daryl's direction. It made his stomach clench to think of Shane kissing her and to think of her kissing Shane. He understood why she did it, though, and he nodded at her to let her know that it was OK and she should continue to speak freely to Hershel.

"It made him—let go a little. I kneed him in the…in the…"

"We used to say family jewels," Hershel said. He laughed and it seemed to relax Carol again.

"Did he—do anything else to you?" Hershel asked. "Anything that—you might have been reluctant to tell us?" When Carol didn't respond, furrowing her brow at him, Hershel looked at Daryl and frowned. Then he looked back at Carol. He took her hand and gently worked it in his. "Let's try this another way. Is there any chance…any chance at all…that—Sophia may not be your only little one? In the future?"

Carol glanced at Daryl and then examined the fingers that Hershel was working between his own.

"Not—that would be Shane's," Carol offered quietly.

Hershel laughed to himself, but he swallowed it back.

"Fair enough," he said. "I had to ask. Especially in light of—everything that's happening these days."

"Why you ask?" Daryl asked.

Hershel sighed.

"To know the extent of his crimes," Hershel said. "And—to prepare for whatever we needed to prepare for." He sighed. "There are people that need to be cremated. Laid to rest."

"I'm sorry for…" Carol started, clearly feeling someone needed to apologize to Hershel for some of the suffering their group had brought to his door. He stopped her by shushing her and continuing to pat the hand that he held between his.

"For what Shane did?" He asked. "I'm not asking you to apologize for Shane anymore. In fact—I'd rather if you didn't apologize for anything for a while. I don't care for the sound of it. It—brings up poor memories. There are—bodies that need to be cremated. My wife and her son—my step-son—among them. I want to be sure that they're handled with dignity. Respect."

"I'll help," Daryl said.

"I'd prefer it if you stayed here," Hershel said. "There are—several things we need to deal with. As a group, if everyone's going to insist on staying. This is one of those things. I'd rather you stayed here until we can do that. I'll send someone to bring your things. Patricia will bring you a meal soon and she'll bring Sophia."

"What about—milk?" Carol asked. "The pills…"

She furrowed her brow at Hershel in a way that was almost comical. She was feeling better. She was feeling relaxed. But she was possibly also having a hard time keeping her footing firmly in reality.

"Your milk will be fine for Sophia," Hershel said. "Nothing I gave her will cause problems for her, and you won't be taking it long. I only want you to rest a little. Let that shoulder rest. Relax. And I know women like you." He winked at her. "You won't stay off your feet unless I take your feet out from under you. This is the nicest way to do that."

"She's gonna stay off her feet," Daryl offered.

"I'd appreciate it if you took it easy, too," Hershel said. "Stay in the room. Smoke out the window if you like. If someone comes and tries to start something, don't entertain them." He smiled at Daryl. "I don't know about Shane, but I do believe that—you might be something of the real kind of family man. Is that fair to say?"

Daryl's pulse picked up. He could practically feel his heart hopping around inside his chest like it had gotten loose from its designated spot. He shrugged his shoulders and nervously brought his thumb to his mouth to chew at the calloused skin that hardened there. The repetitive biting was calming, but not enough to take away the fluttering in his chest.

"Never had one," Daryl offered. "Not…not really."

"Well—at the very least, I think you can understand family," Hershel said.

Daryl nodded his head.

"Stay here with Carol. Keep her company and help her relax. Stay with Sophia. Ignore—everything that happens outside this door. Let's have a little peace—just until my family is laid to rest. Can you do that for me?"

Daryl nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "You got my word. We can do that."


	41. Chapter 41

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I'm sorry, life got really crazy again. I hope to be back for at least a few days!**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol jerked when Daryl pushed the door closed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Sorry—go back to sleep."

"I wasn't asleep," she protested, halfway sitting up. Daryl couldn't help but smile to himself. She furrowed her brow and looked at him. "Where'd you go?"

He swallowed down his amusement.

"Told you," he said. "When you weren't asleep an' all. Went with Hershel. Just to check on Sophia an'…to hear a couple things he wanted to say. That's all. You OK?"

"Where's Sophia?" Carol asked. She looked around her and Daryl saw the moment of panic wash over her.

"Fine," Daryl said. "She's fine. With Patricia. Playin' with bowls an' all in the kitchen. Patricia ain't gonna let her outta her sight. Gonna bring her back when she needs you. Bring you somethin' to eat. You oughta just—just rest now. There ain't nothin' else to do until…well, until Hershel gets back. Told him we'd stay in here. Lay low. Andrea—she's gonna bring us some stuff from the tent later. After she's done helpin' with the bodies."

"We should be helping," Carol said.

Daryl crossed the room. He stood by the side of the bed and, finally, took a seat on the edge of it.

"We should," he agreed. "And we woulda been helpin' until Shane thought he was some kinda big damn man that could—that could just do what the hell he wanted."

"Where is he?" Carol asked.

"Don't know," Daryl said. "Hershel said he was gonna talk to Rick. Gonna handle things. He said—'cause I asked him to—that he was gonna keep Andrea away from him, too. Just…you know…just in case. Keep him away from her an' Patricia and his girls."

Even with the bruises like stains around her face, each of them marking where Shane's fingers had been pressed unmercifully hard against her skin, she was beautiful. And she was looking at him, glassy-eyed from the strong pain medication, like he was something unlike anything she'd ever seen before. Just the way she was looking at him made his pulse pick up and his chest ache.

He wanted nothing more, at that moment, than to never do anything that would make her look at him with any less wonder and affection.

"Can I touch you still?" Daryl asked.

Carol smiled at him.

"I wish you would," she said.

Daryl leaned toward her and she leaned up, out of the pillows into which she was reclining, to meet him for a quick kiss. He would have wanted it to last longer, but she pulled away before she changed her position to sit up a bit more.

"You don't have to ask me, you know, every time you want to kiss me or—touch me," Carol offered.

"I think, after what Shane done, maybe you oughta have a couple days where people don't touch you unless it's what the hell you want," Daryl said.

"Maybe just people that I don't want to touch me," Carol offered, raising her eyebrow at him with a smirk. "You can consider this…you can consider this…permission…permanent permission."

"Permission until further notice," Daryl offered.

"That, too," Carol agreed.

"Them pills good to you?" Daryl asked with a laugh. He'd seen people handle their pain medication much worse, but it was clear she was feeling at least a little loopy. He could see it in her eyes.

Carol groaned and her cheeks flushed pink.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Shhh," Daryl said quickly. He shook his head at her. "Don't apologize. I heard it so damned much today—I'ma be happy if I live the rest of my sorry ass life without hearin' you say you sorry for shit. You ain't got nothin' to be sorry for."

Daryl brushed his thumb over her cheek. She reached her hand up and caught his hand, bringing it around to her lips. She frowned at him, remembering everything, perhaps, when she witnessed his bandages again.

"I know you don't want me to apologize," Carol said. "But, Daryl…"

"Don't you do it!" Daryl said quickly. He said it harder, perhaps than he meant to because her eyes went wide. He didn't like that expression any more than the almost incessant litany of apologies she'd spilled out earlier. He consciously softened his expression and his tone. He offered her a hint of a smile before he put back on his stern expression so that she'd understand it was a joke.

She did. She relaxed. She smiled.

"I was just going to say that I didn't want you to get hurt," Carol said.

"I ain't hurt," Daryl told her.

"Your hands," Carol said.

"Didn't nothin' happen out there that I wouldn't have happen a thousand times," Daryl said. "I don't like that he put his hands on you like that. I don't want nobody—they ain't got the right to do it." His stomach ached as he remembered the fight that he hadn't exactly won and he hadn't exactly lost. He remembered what Shane had said. "They all think I done it," Daryl said.

"No," Carol said, barely blowing the word out. She shook her head. "No, they don't."

"They do," Daryl said. "Who the hell they gonna believe done it, Carol? Shane? A fuckin' ex-cop? Or me? A—a dirty ass animal. Like he said."

Carol sat all the way up and moved toward him. She practically draped herself across him in the best way she could. His position on the edge of the bed made things awkward for her. Still, she kissed his cheek and nuzzled her face against his neck. He closed his eyes when he felt her breath there and realized that, even though he probably smelled like sweat and campfire and a night in the yard, she was breathing in the smell of him like it was something she enjoyed.

"I know you didn't do it," Carol said. "And Sophia knows you didn't do it. And—Hershel and Patricia know you didn't do it. Andrea—and Dale. You're not an animal. And you're not dirty. At least—you're not any dirtier than the rest of us. And you didn't do it. You wouldn't."

It was so good. It was so right having her touching him like that. He moved enough to get his arm around her so that he could support her. She didn't move except for to snuggle a bit closer to him and, resting her head against his shoulder despite the fact that it must have been a little uncomfortable, she seemed content to try and sleep again.

And if she wanted to sleep on him, he'd let her. He'd let her stay there until they had to move because someone came for them.

But she stirred before long and pulled away from him to straighten her back.

"You oughta sleep," he told her.

"I'm fine," Carol said.

"What if—I was to lay with you?" Daryl asked. "Would you lay down then?"

"You want to lay with me?" Carol asked.

Daryl nodded his head.

He wanted her to lie down more than anything. She looked tired and Hershel had warned him, when he took him outside, that he'd given her something quite strong. He told him that he'd purposefully tried to buy her just a little peace. That's what the pill was supposed to give her—a little peace. It was supposed to let her mind and her body rest and then, when everything was calm and he could think better and people were ready to listen, Hershel was going to talk to Rick and the rest of the group to figure out how they went forward from here.

Because Daryl, if he got his hands around Shane's throat, still fully intended to kill the man for what he'd done, what he might have done, and what he couldn't be trusted not to do.

And he'd very calmly told Hershel as much before Hershel had told him that he wanted to talk to him, again, in private and at more length—but first, he wanted to pay his final respects to his wife in peace. Daryl promised that, as much as it was within his ability, he would grant the old man that.

Daryl didn't know what it was, exactly, to bury a wife, but he could imagine that it would be one of the worst things that could ever happen to you—especially if you loved her.

Daryl had never had a wife, and he was new to most kinds of love. So new, in fact, that he was still nervous to admit to himself that the word had been doing a great deal of dancing around in his brain for the past few days.

Carol accepted Daryl's offer to lie down with him. He moved enough to let her know that he was going to lie with her, but he stayed back enough to let her get comfortable first. She found a position that she liked, facing him with her injured shoulder up in the air and away from the mattress, and he joined her. Facing her, he dared to rest his hand on her hip for some connection and she smiled at the simple touch.

"I know you might—be thinkin' about what Shane said," Daryl said. "About—goin' from Ed to me?"

"I wasn't thinking about it," Carol said.

"I ain't gonna be like Ed," Daryl said.

"I know you're not," Carol said. "You're very different than Ed. Even—even when Ed was different than Ed. You're still different." She laughed to herself. "Did that make sense?"

"Plenty," Daryl assured her. "Still—I don't want you to worry."

"I'm not," Carol assured him.

Daryl nodded his understanding and readjusted himself to get more comfortable. Carol tried to offer him her pillow, but he pressed his hand against her hip to draw her attention enough to stop her.

"I got a whole pillow here, Carol," he said softly. "There's like three more just right there if I was to reach my hand a half an inch. You don't gotta give me yours."

Carol nodded her understanding and settled back into her own pillow. She made a face when she moved and Daryl brushed her face with his finger. She closed her eyes to the sensation.

"That shoulder OK?" He asked.

"It's fine," Carol said.

"You hurt it before, didn't you?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed quietly.

"Old football injury," she teased.

"You didn't answer Hershel when he asked you if you'd hurt it before," Daryl said.

"I didn't have to," Carol said. "He knew."

"I ain't gonna let nobody hurt it again," Daryl offered.

"That's not your job," Carol responded.

"Then I'll make it my fuckin' job," Daryl said. Carol opened an eye and smirked at him. He realized she was teasing with him and he laughed to himself.

"It's OK, Daryl," Carol said. "Really. It hardly hurts."

"You gonna rest it," Daryl said. "He's gonna be like our doctor—you oughta told him it was hurt before."

"Like I said," Carol said. "He knew."

Daryl brushed his fingers through the hair at her temple. Her hair was barely long enough to mention. He certainly couldn't run his fingers through it. Still, it was soft against his fingertips and she looked like she enjoyed the affection. She closed her eyes and relaxed with a sigh.

"I didn't say nothing to him," Daryl said, continuing the gentle stroking of her hair, "about you an' me while I was out there talkin' to Hershel. But, Carol? I couldn't help but notice that…that'cha didn't tell him it was me. You didn't tell him it was…mine."

Carol opened her eyes to him and furrowed her brow.

"It wasn't you," she said. "It was Shane. Why would I tell Hershel it was you? He knew it wasn't you."

Daryl shook his head. He stopped petting her because, suddenly, he felt like he needed the comfort of having his own hand near him. He felt the need, as he often did, to check his nails for length and his cuticles for problems, and his other hand was trapped under his pillow.

"When he asked if, well, if Soph was to not be your only kid, and you were to have another kid," Daryl said. "You told him that it wouldn't be Shane's."

Carol laughed quietly to herself.

"Because it wouldn't be," Carol said. "Daryl—Hershel was asking me if Shane…well, if he…took advantage of me."

"I know what the hell he was askin', Carol," Daryl responded. "I'm not some kinda fuckin' dumbass."

"I know you're not a dumbass," Carol offered. "But—maybe it's the pills because I feel like a dumbass. I don't know—I don't know what I did wrong, Daryl…"

"You didn't do nothing wrong," Daryl said. "But'cha told Hershel it wouldn't be Shane's but…but you didn't tell him it would be mine. Is that because you're ashamed or something? You're wishin' that we hadn't done anything together or you're not wanting nobody to know?"

Carol stared at him, brow furrowed, and then she smiled sincerely. She sat up, resting herself on her good arm, so that she could practically lean over him.

"I didn't tell him because—he already knew," Carol said.

"How's he supposed to know what we done in a tent two nights ago, Carol?" Daryl asked.

"I just think he does," Carol said. "And maybe…I thought you might not want everyone to know."

"I'm not ashamed of you," Daryl said quickly.

"And I'm not ashamed of you," Carol said.

"You just—didn't say nothin' to Hershel about it when he damn near asked flat out," Daryl said.

Carol laughed quietly. She leaned toward him and kissed his forehead. She moved to kiss his cheek. She kissed the tip of his nose. With each kiss, she laughed quietly. She laughed softly.

And with each little kiss, Daryl's pulse picked up just a little.

She was sweet, and she was loopy, and she was being playful, and no matter how heavy his chest had felt even minutes before, now it felt the best that he could ever remember it feeling.

And when her lips touched his, he came forward and made sure that she knew he wanted more than a little kiss with a laugh. He wanted a real kiss. He wanted a kiss like she meant it and like she wasn't ashamed of him. He wanted a kiss that would let her know that he wasn't ashamed of her.

She granted him that.

She smiled at him, sincerely this time, when she pulled away. She settled back down into her pillow.

"When he comes back," Carol said, "I'll make sure he knows."

"You just gonna come right out and tell him that I asked about it so you had to tell him?" Daryl asked with a snort.

"He's my doctor," Carol said. "There are things I need to ask him and…there are things he needs to know." She hummed at him. "Even if—Daryl? He already knows."

"You think?" Daryl asked.

Carol yawned and closed her eyes. Daryl moved his hand back to her hip and relaxed into his spot. Seeing her feeling so sleepy was making him feel sleepy.

"I think everybody knows," Carol said.

Daryl patted her hip. He watched her for a moment. It didn't take long of her lying still before her breathing started to even out. She was as beautiful when she slept as she was when she did anything else.

"I think that's alright, too," Daryl offered. Even though he was fairly certain that she hadn't heard his affirmation that he was fine with anyone and everyone knowing about whatever it was that was happening between them.

He had a feeling, though, that she already knew.


	42. Chapter 42

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl sat in the little area and waited where Hershel asked him to wait. He didn't know if the little room was a sitting area or a foyer of some type or what. It was just a nook. A corner. And it had a couch that was too small to be a couch, but Daryl sat there and held down the little piece of furniture because that's where Hershel had asked him to sit while he spoke to Carol in private—because Carol wanted just a moment alone with him.

Something had happened in the house, but Daryl didn't know the details of what had happened outside of the room that he'd been inside all day. Something had happened that had eaten up the attentions of nearly everyone around there. The bodies had been dealt with, but there had been something that had followed that. Daryl had missed all of it, though, and so had Carol, because they'd been in the room where Hershel had asked them to stay.

The only reason that Daryl even knew that something had gone on was because Patricia brought them food, and Sophia, and their things from the tent like she was moving them inside. Andrea was supposed to bring the things from the tent, and when Daryl—worried that the woman had overworked herself when her lungs didn't sound quite healed—had asked about her, Patricia said she was fine but that something had happened. Something she wasn't going to talk about.

When Hershel got there, he'd dismissed it as nothing that neither Daryl nor Carol needed to worry about. It was something handled. And he'd asked Daryl to sit outside and wait for him while he was in with Carol.

Daryl waited, too, because Carol had asked him to and he wanted to grant her what little bit of privacy she requested for whatever reason she might want it.

When Hershel came out of the bedroom, Daryl got to his feet immediately. He nipped at his fingernails to soothe over the anxiety he'd worked up while holding down the not-quite-couch.

"She's OK?" Daryl asked.

"Relax, son," Hershel said. "She's—she's just fine. I gave her something else. Not quite as strong as what I gave her before. It'll just help her rest through the night."

"Is everything alright here?" Daryl asked.

Hershel sighed.

"Nothing you should worry about now," Hershel said. "My daughter—Bethie—thought she might not…want to remain here with us. She said something to Maggie before we started this afternoon and Maggie thought she'd be better off here. She asked your friend, Andrea, to stay with Beth. To make sure she didn't do anything since the smoke wouldn't have been good for Andrea either."

"Maybe—Andrea weren't the best choice for that," Daryl ventured. "Dealin' with your daughter, I mean."

"It would appear not," Hershel said.

"You daughter OK?" Daryl asked.

"She's going to be fine," Hershel said. "She nearly gave me a heart attack, but she's going to be fine. I sat with her this afternoon and, she's changed her mind. At least she knows now and—it wasn't what it could have been. I could be mad about it, but I learned a long time ago that anger rarely makes any situation better. Maggie, however, didn't respond well to Andrea giving Beth more space than she thought she should have."

"They fight?" Daryl asked.

Hershel laughed to himself.

"Not quite in the same way that you and Shane did," Hershel said, "but in their own way. I'm staying away from it for now. I don't want to hear it. Not tonight. Emotions seem to be running too high tonight. Beth is alive and, for that, I feel blessed. I've asked Maggie to stay in her room. I don't want anything else being stirred up around here."

"Randall?"

Hershel shook his head at Daryl. He knew who Daryl was talking about. Both of them, after all, had been at the bar the night that Hershel had run away from the farm. They both knew that there was a man—or barely more than a kid—tied up in one of Hershel's barns.

"That's not for tonight," Hershel said. "He's clean. He's fed. He's better off than some."

"Shane?" Daryl asked.

"That's for tomorrow, too," Hershel said. "I told you. I'm tired. Not only do I not want to deal with it tonight, but I'm refusing to deal with it tonight. Tomorrow I'll draw the whole group together and we'll deal with what we need to deal with. Tonight, is for rest." Daryl nodded his understanding of Hershel's decree. "I mean that for you, too," Hershel said. "I—talked to Carol."

Daryl's stomach knotted up a bit. He had a good idea what Carol might have wanted to talk about, but he had no idea how she might go about it or what Hershel might think about it.

"What'd she say?" Daryl asked, hoping that Hershel couldn't sense the anxiety that he felt like he'd bragged he might be able to with his vet training. Hershel smiled to himself.

"It's certainly not the worst thing I've had to deal with today," Hershel said. He cleared his throat. "You're under my roof, Daryl. You and Carol both. And you'll stay under my roof until the time comes that you leave my farm—whenever we decide that time will be."

"We can go back to our tent," Daryl said.

"I'm afraid the tent has been dismantled," Hershel said. "Sophia is more comfortable on that mattress on the floor and she needs room to stretch and—and to crawl. I think it's better if you stay right where you are for now."

Daryl nodded his head.

"Appreciate it," he offered, not sure what else to say.

"My children know that if they live under my roof," Hershel said, "then they live by my rules."

"But we ain't your children," Daryl offered. Still, even saying that, he couldn't help but get the feeling of being a child in the old man's presence. Hershel Greene bore little resemblance to Rooster Dixon. Instead of giving Daryl the feeling that he was actually in the presence of his father, he gave Daryl the feeling that he was in the presence of a man who was what he might identify as quintessentially a father—something very unlike anything that Daryl had ever known before.

"As long as you're under my roof," Hershel said, "I'm sure you'll understand if I make little difference." Daryl nodded his understanding.

"We ain't tryin' to make your life hard," Daryl offered.

Hershel laughed to himself.

"I haven't always been a religious man," Hershel said. "I found religion to save myself. Not to save others. I'm not blind to the ways of the world or anything like that. There are things that I would prefer to happen a certain way, but…I know that the world is not what it used to be. The world is not even what it was months ago."

"Always been true," Daryl said.

"It has," Hershel said. "Daryl—Carol tells me that, if she were to have another child, it would be your biological offspring. Do you agree with that?"

Daryl swallowed.

"I mean—I think it's a kinda shitty way of sayin' it," Daryl offered.

Hershel laughed to himself. He wasn't offended, at least, with Daryl's honesty.

"My words," Hershel said. "Not Carol's, exactly. "I'm not going to tell anyone what they should and shouldn't do when it comes to relationships. Not when they're grown and certainly not when the world is what it is. I am going to ask you something, though, and I don't want you to answer me until you're sure that the answer you give is the answer you mean."

"I understand," Daryl offered.

"If Carol were to have another child," Hershel said. "Would you take responsibility for that child?"

Daryl was struck by the question. He was mostly struck by how it was so absurd to his mind that it was automatically humorous.

"You serious?" He asked. "I don't even have to think about it. Of course, I would."

Hershel smiled to himself.

"I didn't expect any less," Hershel offered in response. He reached a hand out and clasped the upper part of Daryl's arm. "In which case—and for as much as it mattered to you while you're living under my roof—you have my blessing son."

"You mean to…" Daryl stammered, slowly realizing what Hershel was, essentially, granting him.

"I mean to be Carol's partner," Hershel said. "And everything that you and Carol respectfully decide that means."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Thanks," he said, deciding he didn't fully hate the sound of such a thing. "I mean—I guess."

"Just—Daryl?" Hershel said. Daryl hummed at him in question. "Mind that right shoulder," Hershel said before he dropped his hand from Daryl's arm and left Daryl standing there.

Daryl waited outside a moment, surprised at the unexpected butterflies in his stomach that the whole conversation had stirred up, and then he let himself into the room.

Carol was in bed, under the cover, and she was reading from a book. On a mattress for a twin bed, on the floor, Sophia slept. If she were to wake and crawl off, there was relatively little trouble she could get into and, on the floor, she wouldn't suffer an accidental fall from the bed if she woke without Daryl and Carol hearing her.

"I just talked to Hershel," Daryl said.

Carol smiled to herself. She put the book on the nightstand and she folded her arms across her chest.

"And?" She asked.

"What exactly—if you don't mind my asking—what exactly did you…ask him about?" Daryl asked.

"You really want to know?" Carol asked. She moved over and made room for Daryl to sit on the edge of the bed next to her.

"Wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know," Daryl said. "I mean—if you want to tell me. I guess, really, it's your business and it ain't none of mine. Unless you want to share it."

Carol laughed quietly. She reached for his hand, and he let her have it. She held it in hers and squeezed his fingers in a methodical way that he found relaxing despite the soreness in his fingers.

"I asked him to—you know—look at everything and check to see if I was healthy," Carol said. "I didn't have great care with Sophia and—I haven't seen anyone since she was born. I just—wanted him to tell me if he thought I ever had any chance of maybe, in the future, having another baby."

"You asked him to…to examine you?" Daryl asked. "Look you over?"

"To see if everything was…as it should be," Carol said. "If everything healed. After having Sophia. See—I'm sorry I told you this because your face…"

Daryl hadn't realized he was making a face. He hadn't meant to make a face, but there was a lot going through his mind suddenly. He did his best to make his face a blank canvas. It wasn't easy for Carol to share this.

"No—I wanna know," Daryl said. "I just—I don't know much about babies and hell, women even. You know that. But I wanna know. So—what'd he say?"

"As far as he can tell," Carol said, "everything is as it should be."

"So, you're gonna have another kid?" Daryl asked. His stomach knotted in response to the words.

"I could have another kid," Carol said.

"Same difference," Daryl offered.

"Not exactly. See, Daryl, I was with Ed a long time before Sophia came. And then, out of nowhere, she came. But—I might not have another one."

"Lori's gonna have one," Daryl offered. "It's one of the reasons Shane's so fucked up right now—I mean besides just the loose screw that's shakin' around in his fuckin' skull."

"Lori's a little younger than me," Carol said.

"So?"

"It matters," Carol said. "And then—there's just luck. Biology. Every woman's different and every body's different and…"

"But Hershel says it could happen," Daryl said.

"There's nothing that he can see—just at a glance—that would stop it," Carol said.

"OK then," Daryl said.

"OK?" Carol asked.

"OK," Daryl said. "Then we right back where the hell we were, ain't we? I mean—anything changed that I missed. You could have a kid. It could—it could be mine."

"But I might not," Carol said.

"But'cha might not," Daryl agreed.

"Would that—be a problem?" Carol asked.

"If you didn't?" Daryl asked.

"Is that something you would want?" Carol asked.

"A kid?" Daryl asked. Carol nodded. "I mean—I never thought about it, really, before. I mean I thought about it like—like you think about those things…like you think about what would I do if this happened. But I never really thought about it. But I mean—yeah. If you had a kid. I'd want a kid."

"And if I don't have one?" Carol asked.

"Then…" Daryl hesitated. He honestly had lost his thread somewhere. He'd dropped it. He felt like he was lost in a maze. "Then—I wouldn't want what I don't have?"

Carol laughed.

"Are you asking me or telling me, Daryl?" Carol asked.

"To be honest, I don't fuckin' know," Daryl said. He swallowed down some frustration that he could feel building inside him. "I think you lost me a couple of turns back to be honest."

Carol laughed again. She smiled at him, but there was something that wasn't entirely sincere. There was some sadness in her eyes that made Daryl's gut react. She raised his hand and, in an unexpected gesture, she kissed his fingers.

"How does it make you feel if I were to tell you that I could never give you a child, Daryl?" Carol asked.

"Sad," Daryl said. She made a face. It looked like she'd been slapped and Daryl pulled his hand free from hers so that he could hold hers instead. Hers was small in his hand. It was small and delicate next to his. He squeezed it affectionately. "It makes me sad because—it sounds like you're puttin' a lot on yourself, Carol. It sounds like you're sad and I didn't want you to be sad. You weren't sad the other night—before Shane. Before—we ever started talking about any of this after Shane. You weren't sad when we talked about it before him…"

She hadn't been sad, either, when Hershel had given her the other pill. Daryl decided he'd make it a point to tell the old man that, if he felt the need to dose her again, this one wasn't the pill for her. This one didn't give her any peace. It wasn't giving Daryl much peace, either, at the moment.

"It does make me sad," Carol said. "Because—I've been thinking about it, Daryl, and if you want a baby? I want you to have that. But if I can't give you that, then I still…I still want you to have that."

Daryl's stomach didn't care at all for what his brain was trying to tell him that Carol was saying. He didn't care at all for what he knew she was saying. His only response, for a moment, was to hold her hand tighter in his—to work it in his—like his hands just wanted to say what his brain couldn't quite voice. He didn't want to let go of her hand. Not then and, maybe, not ever.

"Gotta admit," Daryl said, his voice catching in his throat. "I didn't come in here ready for this. I was ready for—for you to invite me in, Carol. I thought—hell—I thought you were gonna let me sleep with you again. In a bed this time. The most proper it could be. I didn't think I was comin' in here for you to…put me out. And that is what it is, isn't it? You're…uh…you puttin' me out. Outta the room. Outta—whatever this is. Outta your life."

"I'm not," Carol breathed out. The knot in Daryl's chest loosened just a little. "That's not what I wanted at all. I wanted—I wanted to ask you if you wanted to…to be with me. I wanted to feel you, Daryl. All the way. Every way. I wanted to sleep with you."

"Then what the hell are you doing to me?" Daryl asked. "Because—what I'm feeling right now? It hurts. Like a whole fuckin' lot more than my hands do."

"I just want you to have what you want," Carol said. "And—at the end of the day? Daryl—I don't know if I can give you everything you want. I don't know if I can give you anything you want."

Daryl swallowed against the painful lump in his throat. He would have rather held broken glass in his palm than feel the suffocating pain that was invading his chest.

"I don't know if you can give me everything I want," Daryl said. "Hell—I don't know if I can give you everything you want. But I know—I know you can give me some of what I want. I know that most of what I want right now is you. That oughta count for somethin', shouldn't it?"

"There could be someone else," Carol said. "That could give you more."

"I don't want nobody else," Daryl responded. He felt an odd sensation like anger bubbling up inside him. He almost welcomed it because it numbed some of the pain. "Listen—you want me to stay here tonight or you don't. But—how about you don't tell me I gotta have someone else just because that's what you want me to have? Huh? How about—you just don't do that."

"Please don't wake up Sophia," Carol said, keeping her voice very soft. It reminded Daryl to lower his own voice.

"I don't want somebody different," Daryl said.

"You don't know that," Carol said. "You might…"

Finally, Daryl decided that the only way to stop her was to lean forward and steal the words right out of her mouth with a kiss. She didn't fight the kiss and it wasn't long before it seemed like she'd forgotten that she was trying to give Daryl women that she was finding for him along some path that he couldn't even see. It wasn't long before she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him to her, and she didn't complain when he'd pulled the cover back and slipped his hand under the oversized shirt she was wearing for a nightgown.

"You slippery," Daryl informed her, breaking the kiss, when she shifted her body enough to spread her legs and allow for his fingers to find the passage they sought.

"That's going to happen a lot, I think," Carol said. "I might've had a little help. It's just aloe."

"Like from the plant?" Daryl asked.

"Like from the plant," Carol said. "It's a natural—you know. Lubricant. Daryl—do you want to talk about it, or do you want to take advantage of it?"

Daryl was curious, but he wasn't that curious at the moment. He'd decided, in the few minutes of heavy kissing with Carol, that it was the pills that had sent her tripping off on some terrible trip through a pretty dark fucking forest—and she'd accidentally dragged him along with her and tried to get rid of him along the way—but the kissing had turned the affect of the pills around.

And she was pink cheeked and panting and looking at him in a way that had him caring about very little else.

And too much talking, at that moment, he was afraid might just send them back into the dark forest in Carol's mind.

So, he answered her the only way he knew how without talking. He pulled away from her only long enough to shed his clothes the fastest he'd ever come out of them before while she rid herself of the shirt she was wearing, and then he'd savored the feeling of being welcomed back right where he wanted to be—right where he was afraid she might never welcome him again.

And he made note that aloe, even if he didn't have all the facts on it, was a plant that it was never really bad to have around.


	43. Chapter 43

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **Please note that we're not going with canon exactly, in case you might have forgotten that. LOL**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"It's my farm, and what I say goes," Hershel said blankly.

"You can't just stomp your foot and demand that like a child," Lori said.

Hershel laughed.

"Actually, I can," Hershel pointed out. "Because the fact remains that this is my farm. This is my home. Everything here? I built it. The livestock—I raised it. The vegetables? I grew them. The wells? I helped dig them. With these hands. This is my farm."

"You would put good people out for going against your wishes?" Rick asked.

"I would put my own children out for not knowing their place in this world and not remembering that respect is something that I will not allow them to live without while they're under my roof," Hershel said.

"Look—all we're saying is that it's a hard world out there," Lori said. "And it's a world that—that maybe you haven't seen. Maybe you don't understand…"

"Young lady," Hershel said, "I have seen far more of this world than you have. And I would venture to say that I have suffered more of the hardships that she has to offer than you have. Perhaps a good many people in this room have."

Hershel had told Daryl that they wouldn't discuss any of the "business" on the farm until he was ready. His decision to discuss things had been announced when he'd invited anyone who cared to join him to gather wherever they could sit and enjoy lunch—a lunch consisting mostly of vegetables and beans and some stewed meat from a few rabbits and more than a handful of squirrels that Daryl hunted off the back of the property.

Hershel's demands had been that no business would be discussed during the meal and, for that reason, the whole thing had been eaten in almost complete silence while everyone made eyes at each other to try to decide who fell into what camps on which issues.

When he'd finished his lunch, and when he was satisfied that it was time to talk about everything that hung heavy in the room, Hershel had very calmly made a few more demands. Shane was asked to step outside. And, when he protested that it was unlawful for someone to essentially be put on trial when they weren't there to plead their case, Hershel had informed him that they would take it all the way to the Supreme Court—if that's what Shane wanted—just as soon as such a system was reinstated and functioning in the country.

Shane had left, but not without a great deal of frustration and some choice words that he carried with him even as he marched across the field to, presumably, blow off some steam.

The first thing that Hershel had done was to inform those that were unaware that there was a young man named Randall who was locked in a barn. The night that Hershel had left the farm, they'd encountered Randall and his groupmates. Those he'd been with had clearly been less than desirable people. They'd killed some of Randall's groupmates, but only out of self-defense, and the others had fled when they'd realized that they weren't getting the upper hand against Daryl and his companions.

Randall had been injured and left behind, so they'd brought him back, Hershel had patched him up, and now he was living in a barn, like a side of beef, until they could figure out what worked out as the safest thing for everyone. Randall could, after all, bring people back to the farm if he were returned to his people. He could be a threat to the group.

Daryl's suggestion had been to simply kill the guy. He'd consider it an extension of the self-defense that they used to soothe the hurt of having had to kill the others, and he'd do it himself if he had to for the safety of the group.

But his companions couldn't stomach that and, as Rick said, they weren't the kind of people that killed people—except when they did—so he'd suggested that the best thing to do would be to blindfold Randall and drive him out to a place where he'd never be able to find his way back to the farm. Then they'd release him and leave him to fend for himself.

In Daryl's opinion, it was mostly killing Randall with a few more steps involved, but he wasn't going to argue too much to save the time and spend the bullet.

It was worth noting, too, that Lori had been a hundred percent behind the idea of driving Randall out to the middle of nowhere and leaving him with nothing more than their well wishes, but her song had changed a bit when Hershel—without even changing his tone like he thought he'd be fought on it at all—suggested that Rick, as long as he was taking people places, might very well blindfold, bind, and take Shane with him.

Shane was unstable and a threat, in Hershel's opinion. Having him there required keeping women and children under almost constant supervision and, as far as he could see, that was no way to live. It wasn't how he wanted people living on his farm. Not only did he feel it was best if Shane went, but that was simply how he expected things to be.

"I won't have you lecturing me on how hard the world can be," Hershel said.

Daryl chewed at the dry skin on his lip. Beside him, Carol held Sophia on her lap. She held his hand with her other hand.

He had never been so interested in the fallout from a conversation that he wasn't directly involved in as he was in that particular conversation.

"Look—maybe we can talk about this," Rick offered.

"I think we're done talking," Hershel said. "I've said what I have to say on the matter."

"And so now you're just God?" Lori asked.

"No ma'am," Hershel said. "I am not nearly God. I am just Hershel Greene. A retired veterinarian. A farmer. And a man trying to do the best he can by his two daughters and those that God has entrusted into his care. And part of doing the best that I can for them is keeping them safe from wolves of the four-legged and the two-legged variety."

Across the room, Dale was owl-eyed. Practically sitting in his lap for what comfort she might find there, Andrea was somewhat curled up. She was forgiven for allowing the youngest daughter—not present in the discussion—a little more freedom than what Maggie would have wished her to have, but it was clear that she worried that being too obvious might get her thrown in the trunk of a car with a gag and little hope for a future.

"I'm just saying that—everyone is under a lot of stress lately," Lori said.

"I agree," Hershel said. "I know that my family has been under a great deal of stress accommodating this group. I know that Carol has been under a lot of stress since Shane nearly dislocated her shoulder and threatened her in my yard. From where I'm standing, Shane has the least to be stressed about of anyone here. And the stress he has, it seems he's brought upon himself. Unless—you have anything you'd like to enlighten me on?"

Lori fell silent.

"Shane knows where the farm is," Andrea said. "I'm sorry, but—if we're really worried about? He'll be able to find his way back here."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Then it's settled," he said. "We kill him, too. We can save the time and the gas. We can save stayin' awake at night wonderin' if he's ever comin' back. Give me a few minutes and a fuckin' shovel and we don't gotta talk about this shit again."

"We don't kill people!" Rick barked at him. "Hershel, look, you're convicting a man over something that—I'm sorry, Carol—over something that he can't have a fair trial over. We're condemning him as guilty."

"Because he's fuckin' guilty!" Daryl barked, standing up.

Sophia howled, suddenly, at the loudness or the shock of Daryl's words and he immediately reached for her. She came to him, despite her fear over the noise, and he cuddled her against him, quietly apologizing to her for scaring her in his annoyance. She continued to fuss, but she did it with a lot less conviction and a lot more evidence of nearing her naptime.

"He's fuckin' guilty," Daryl said softly. "You ain't gonna pin this on me. None of you gonna pin this shit on me. I ain't fuckin' done it."

"Relax, son," Hershel offered. "Nobody's blaming you."

"I'm not blaming you, Daryl," Rick echoed.

"But you callin' Carol a liar," Daryl offered.

"I'm not calling anyone a liar," Rick said.

"Well if she ain't a liar Rick, then what the hell's Shane need a trial for?" Daryl asked.

"I'm with Daryl on this one," Andrea offered.

"You know what? Nobody asked you!" Lori spat suddenly in Andrea's direction. "You're at least half the reason we could be asked to leave this farm after that little stunt you pulled yesterday."

"Stop it!" Hershel said loudly. It got the attention of everyone, including Sophia, and Hershel moved close enough to Daryl to pat Sophia's back as a way of trying to soothe over her dislike of loudness in general. "Everyone stop. I have spoken to Andrea. I've said what I had to say to her. I've spoken to my daughters. That matter? It's settled. I have witnessed Daryl and Carol's relationship for the past two days—they have allowed me a very intimate view into their relationship—and I rest entirely assured that Daryl did not put his hands on Carol in any way that she would not approve of. He did not manipulate her into accusing an innocent man. I am an old man. And I am tired. I have known nothing but—turmoil and strife since you got here. I am too tired to deal with it any further. This is my land. This is my house. And my rules are the only rules that matter here. You can live with them or you can leave. I don't care which you choose. Now—I don't care how you deal with Randall or Shane. But I want them gone from this property. Neither of them is welcome under this roof or on this land. That's all I have to say about it."

"Wait," Rick said.

Hershel looked at Rick like, for the first time in perhaps a very long time, he was considering punching someone straight in the nose to close a discussion. He maintained his calm, though.

"What do you want, Rick?"

"I understand that we've been—horrible houseguests," Rick said. "And most of that—if not all of it—has come from what we've seen out there. What we've experienced. I'm through making excuses for Shane. I'm not making excuses for him anymore. I'm just going to say that he's been my partner. He's been my best friend for a long time. Give him the opportunity to calm down. Give him the opportunity to—to see things clearly. Let me talk to him."

"You can talk until you're blue in the face," Daryl said. "But'cha do it out there, that's what he's saying."

"Let me put him in the barn," Rick said. "Take Randall out there somewhere…do what you asked. Let me take Shane with me. Talk to him. We'll keep him—in the barn. He'll be away from everyone. Everyone will be safe. We'll give him a chance to calm down."

Hershel considered it a moment.

"I don't want to see his face," Hershel said. "And I don't want to hear his name."

"I promise," Rick assured him.

Hershel nodded his head and left the room. He left all of them to deal with their messes and what he'd said.

Daryl needed a moment, so he turned to Carol, his face against the side of Sophia's head, and gestured gently in the direction that would take him to the room they shared.

"I'ma go—see if she'll go down for a nap," Daryl said.

"She might be hungry soon," Carol said.

"You come feed her if you want," Daryl said. "But I'ma take her and try to put her down, just the same—if you trust me."

Carol smiled to herself and nodded her head.

"I trust you," she said.

"You gonna be OK?" Daryl asked.

Carol glanced across the room in the direction of where Andrea was sitting.

"I'll be fine," she said. "I'll be there—in a minute."

"Fine," Daryl said. He kissed the side of the baby's head and breathed in the smell of something specifically Sophia that he found there. Without speaking to anyone else, he started across the room. He stopped a moment, when he heard Lori say something to Carol, just to make sure that he didn't need to say anything to the woman that had intercepted Carol on her way to speak to Andrea.

"I hope you don't think—anyone's calling you a liar," Lori said. "I hope you don't think that I was calling you a liar."

"I haven't thought much about it," Carol offered.

"It's just—I'm looking out for our people, you know? Everyone—this hasn't been easy for anyone, Carol. And—I'm just trying to look out for our people."

"I understand," Carol said sincerely. "Where's Carl?"

"He's—playing," Lori said. "He's—I think he's outside playing."

Carol smiled at Lori and nodded her head. She reached out and patted Lori's arm before she quietly continued on her way to speak to Andrea.

And Daryl wondered if Lori had even realized what Carol had said without saying it. He shook his head and kissed the side of Sophia's face again. She hummed at him with satisfaction and bumped her head against him to request another kiss. He granted her another before he continued on his way to the bedroom to try to rock the little girl to the point where she might succumb to sleep.

There was nothing else, out there, that he felt he needed to witness.


	44. Chapter 44

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here!**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol stepped into the little room they barely left these days. She didn't have any desire to leave the room. It felt safe and welcoming. It was unlike any space she'd ever occupied before.

"Rick's gone," Carol said. "I guess he's going to take Randall. Maybe Shane. I don't know. I didn't ask. He didn't ask anyone to go with him."

Daryl laughed to himself. Carol stepped around the bed and smiled to herself at what she saw. On the twin mattress on the floor where Sophia slept and napped, Daryl was lying on his back. Sophia was napping on his chest. Carol sat on the bed where she could see them.

"Who the hell was he gonna ask to go with him?" Daryl asked. "Glenn don't got the stomach for it. That Jimmy ain't but a boy. Dale don't support havin' Shane around 'cause he's scared of him hurtin' Andrea. Hershel's said what the hell he's gonna say about. T-Dog don't give a rat's ass. And he knows if he asks my ass to go, I'ma put a bullet in both of 'em soon as he pops the trunk or whatever."

"I don't think they'll both fit in a trunk," Carol said.

"If you was to cut 'em up small enough, they would," Daryl said. Carol must have made a face because he laughed. "I'm kiddin'. I wouldn't waste my time like that. They ain't worth it. As long as they gone, Rick can get rid of 'em how he wants."

"Lori is being terrible to Andrea," Carol said. "I think Hershel told Andrea and Dale they could stay inside the house, but since he didn't invite Rick and Lori back inside…I don't know. And I think Lori's just…she's just after Andrea after what happened yesterday. I think it's pushed Andrea and Dale to just go back to the RV."

"Lori's pissed that her boyfriend's gone," Daryl said. "Gotta take that out on somebody. Guess she figures it might as well be Andrea. Kick her while she's down. She better be careful, though. Andrea gets to feeling a little better and she ain't gonna take that shit sittin' down no more."

"You know Sophia's asleep, right?" Carol asked.

Daryl brushed his hand over Sophia's back, but the baby didn't mind. She was far away from them and anything that might be happening in their world.

"She went out quick," Daryl said. "Almost before I got her even settled."

"You know you don't have to stay with her," Carol said. "She'll sleep fine on her own."

"I thought about it," Daryl said. "But I didn't have nowhere to go. And I'm not goin' out there again until near dusk for huntin'. I thought—she likes sleeping like this and I kinda like just havin' her here."

"You didn't have to be on the floor," Carol said.

"I was kinda napping myself," Daryl explained. "This way—if I was to doze off? And she was to wake up and go one of her crazy adventures around the room, she wouldn't fall off the bed or something and break her neck."

Carol laughed to herself at the explanation.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" Carol asked. "So, you two can nap?"

Daryl hummed.

"Bed ain't too big, but I can scoot all the way over. Might make a little more room. Best thing I think would be if—you were to get on down here with us."

"Well," Carol said, "I guess—I don't have anywhere to be either. Not until Patricia needs some help with dinner."

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It was dark except for the light that shined from the farmhouse and the few scattered lights from the tent-based shanty-town in Hershel's front yard.

Glenn and Maggie were occupying the swing on the porch. Daryl knew because he'd spoken to them on his way out the door. On the other end of the porch, Patricia was rocking in a rocking chair.

All was quiet in the tent-town they'd constructed, but most people were still awake. It was that kind of night. It was just about the right temperature, the mosquitoes weren't too much of a bother, and it felt like the kind of night to stay up a little later than usual.

Walking across the yard and looking back over his shoulder, Daryl could pick out which window was theirs. It was odd to think they had a window in the farmhouse, but they did. Hershel had spoken. Sophia deserved to be in a real bedroom in a house. Daryl stopped walking and turned to look at the window. He could see little more than shadows. The window was open, but the curtain was still drawn. Carol was in there. She'd be dressing Sophia after her bath. She'd be bringing Sophia to the porch soon, like she said she would, to rock her and nurse her.

Daryl lit a cigarette and stood there smoking it until he saw the light go out in the window. She would be bringing the baby to the porch. As soon as he was done with his rounds, he could join her there. He could rock Sophia after she ate because he was the best at getting her to sleep—Carol told him that every time he got the little girl to close her eyes.

Daryl's rounds were self-appointed.

A hunting knife and a pistol with six bullets in the chamber were all that he needed. Daryl's own pistol had gone missing. Someone had snagged it from his tent, maybe when they'd disassembled the tents that belonged to him and Carol, and it had disappeared. The pistol he currently carried was one that Dale had offered him out of their gun stash that he kept hidden in the RV. He'd asked Hershel, but Hershel didn't have a pistol to give him. Still, he hadn't exactly seemed bothered that Daryl was borrowing one to carry. Hershel hadn't appointed him to his rounds, but he wasn't exactly against them either. Daryl wasn't intentionally setting out to kill anyone, but if things had to happen—he would do whatever he happened to have to do.

Rick had taken Randall and Shane down the road somewhere. According to his own story, he had unloaded them somewhere. He was going to let Randall lose. He had the opportunity to talk to Shane. Everything was going to be perfect and Randall was going to be gone and Shane was going to instantly morph into a different human being—and then they'd been overrun with Walkers. In the midst of all the magic, the three of them had barely made it back to the car with their lives.

Rick was going to get rid of Randall—but he needed more time. He needed to find another place, far away, where he could dump him. He needed to find somewhere that wouldn't automatically condemn the young man to death.

And Shane? He was going to make some kind of full recovery into the land of not-crazy-as-shit. All he needed was a couple days in Hershel's barn—or however long it took Rick to convince Hershel to let Old Yeller out of his pen.

Daryl was fine as long as they were locked away. He wasn't going to fight what Rick and Hershel had agreed upon. But he was going to fight the moment that Rick suggested leaving either of the two storage barns unlocked.

Earlier that day, lying on the twin mattress with Carol curled around him, her leg and arm tossed over him as she found a way to stay in the small space provided to her, and with Sophia sleeping soundly on his chest, it had dawned on Daryl that he would do anything—absolutely anything—that he had to do to protect them. Shane Walsh meant no more than a bug to him, and if he had to smash him to keep them safe and help them sleep peacefully at night, he wouldn't hesitate. And he'd take whatever punishment he earned for it—on Earth or elsewhere.

Daryl didn't exactly distrust Rick. He thought Rick was an all-around good guy. He thought that Rick genuinely wanted the best for his family and he at least labored under the illusion that he was doing the best for everyone at all times. Daryl didn't distrust Rick, but he did think that Rick saw through some pretty thick rose-colored glasses.

So, he took it upon himself to make the rounds and check the barns. He checked the chains. He checked the locks. He rattled the doors, ignoring the howls from inside the two different little barns where their semi-prisoners were locked up. He was satisfied that they were secure, and just starting back across the property, when he heard the blood-curdling screams. Those screams gave way to other screams, but the blood-curdling ones struck Daryl to the core.

There was a very distinct sound to someone truly screaming for their life.

He took off running in the direction of the screams without hesitation.

It was dark, but it wasn't hard to follow the sounds. Daryl made his way through one of the cow pastures, closing in on the noise even as he saw flashlights, like fireflies, coming from the direction of the house.

As he came up on the site, things were worse than he thought. He found Dale fighting with a Walker that was on top of him, and Daryl threw himself at the Walker to roll it off the old man. As soon as he could, Daryl got his boundaries and stabbed his hunting knife into the rotted skull of the Walker. Getting to his feet, he yelled at the swarm of fireflies to come in his direction and waved his arms so they could find him.

Immediately, he knew it wasn't good. Dale was lying on the ground, panting, and his guts were ripped open.

Daryl had seen more than his share of gutted animals before.

Immediately, there was a swarm of people. Everyone was coming, it seemed. Andrea hit her knees next to Dale and her voice became the next most easily identifiable sound around him. She was holding onto Dale. She was begging him to hold on. Begging him to look at her. She was offering him some comfort.

She didn't know, yet. She didn't realize that comfort was all she could offer him.

Carol was there, but Daryl assumed that she'd left Sophia with Patricia at the house—somewhere where it was safe. She wouldn't have known who it was anymore than the rest of them. She might have even suspected it was Daryl himself that had been injured. Most likely, Dale had stepped out to use the bathroom or assure himself that all seemed safe, and he'd ended up like this—torn apart by the first Walker they'd seen since the barn doors had been broken open.

Daryl's stomach ached as he came to terms with the reality of the moment.

Andrea was sobbing pathetically on the ground. Rick was screaming for Hershel—for someone to bring Hershel. Everyone was essentially begging everyone else to do something. Daryl knew, deep down, the only thing that could be done.

When Hershel got there, he got down on his knees next to Andrea. He knew, though, and Daryl knew that he did, exactly what Daryl knew. So, when Glenn asked if they could move him back to the house, Hershel answered him honestly. Dale wouldn't survive the move. When Rick insisted that Hershel go and get his supplies to perform surgery there, Daryl understood what Hershel's head shake meant.

Andrea saw it, and she understood it, too. She put her head against Dale's chest and cried, still holding his hand.

This time, when she begged pathetically for someone to do something, Daryl was certain that she wasn't asking them to try to stuff his guts back inside and sew him up like this had never happened.

Rick pulled a pistol from his own holster and he waved it around in Dale's face for a moment. People turned their heads and hid their eyes and Andrea sobbed over the approaching loss of the man who had been a friend and practically a father to her since the world had turned upside down. But Rick couldn't pull the trigger and taunting Dale with the gun was only making things worse. Besides the fact, he kept looking away like he couldn't bear to look when he pulled the trigger and his jerking was making his aim erratic.

For a moment, Daryl actually feared he might pull the trigger and, trying to save himself from seeing what none of them wanted to see, he might accidentally miss and shoot Andrea.

Daryl wasn't sure, though, that Rick's wife would find that any great loss.

Daryl pulled his own gun, and he pushed Rick out of the way. He made eye contact with Dale. He didn't want to see the old man die anymore than anyone else did, but he couldn't stand to see him suffer, either.

"Sorry, brother," Daryl offered, genuinely meaning the words, before he pulled the trigger.

Andrea's loud and desperate cry was the only sound that pierced the night after the ringing of the gunshot had quieted.

"Let's go back to the house," Lori said, somewhere behind Daryl, apparently wrangling her son or some others up. "Let's go…back to the house."

Daryl turned and caught Carol's attention. She was standing there, arms crossed across her chest, trying to offer him some silent strength.

"Go back to Sophia," Daryl said. "I got this."

She patted his shoulder, nodded her understanding, and started back to the farmhouse. Daryl didn't know anyone's plans, but it seemed that most of them were simply leaving. He didn't know if they intended to come back.

He stood there, for a few moments, beside Andrea as she stretched out on the ground, draped over Dale's chest, and wept for her loss. He let her have her grieving—it was the least he could give her.

Having found themselves left entirely alone; Daryl jumped when he felt a hand clamp onto his shoulder. He turned quickly, prepared to take down the Walker that would threaten him or threaten the sanctity of Andrea's moment.

"Easy, son," Hershel said. Daryl immediately relaxed. "I've got Glenn and Maggie digging already. I thought the three of us could move him. We can call for Rick if we need to. He deserves to be at peace tonight."

Daryl nodded his head.

"I just don't understand where the Walker come from," Daryl said. "We ain't seen one for days."

"Probably out of the woods," Hershel said. "Otis kept the creeks clear but…Otis is no longer with us."

"Lotta that goin' around," Daryl said. He bent down and rested a knee on the ground. He touched Andrea's back and she shook him off. When he touched her again, she accepted the gesture for the affection that it was supposed to bring.

"It's Dale," Andrea sobbed.

"I know it is," Daryl said.

"Please," Andrea begged, but Daryl wasn't sure what she was begging him for. He was almost certain that she didn't know either. "Please—it's Dale."

"You'll want to help us bury him," Daryl said. "He'd like it if you were there. Seems proper you oughta be there to see him off…say goodbye."

"Yeah," Andrea said, her voice coming out still stilted by sobs.

"Need a hand?" Daryl asked. He reached his hand down and caught her, helping her get to her feet. She staggered around a moment like a newborn deer learning to use her feet in the thick field grass. "She's got nobody," Daryl said quietly, leaning toward Hershel. "But—nobody."

"Don't worry," Hershel assured him in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. "Once he's buried, I'll take care of her."


	45. Chapter 45

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"Can you hold her?" Carol asked, passing the baby to Andrea. The woman looked more like she'd been up all night drinking than she'd just woken up from a restful sleep. She gladly took the baby, though, and cuddled her against her. Sophia tolerated the affection, and even offered Andrea something of a smile around the toy she was chewing on. "Sit down. I'll get your breakfast."

"You don't have to wait on me," Andrea said.

"It would take me as long to tell you where I put it as it'll take me to get it," Carol said with a laugh. "Sit." Andrea did sit down. At the sink. Lori finished up the last of the breakfast dishes. Carol retrieved the plate of breakfast that she'd saved from under the pot lid that she'd found to fit the plate perfectly—better at keeping the food warm than the oven or microwave would be—and she grabbed some silverware. Andrea thanked her as soon as she put it in front of her, and she thanked her again when Carol poured her a cup of coffee. "Trade you," Carol said, taking Sophia back. "The coffee's hot. The breakfast might not be."

"If you want hot breakfast," Lori said, "then you should probably eat it when we serve it."

"Lori…" Carol said, trying to plead with the woman.

She knew that Lori was pregnant and, therefore, possibly suffering from a few emotions she wasn't quite in full control of at the moment, but Andrea was probably suffering from an overload of emotions all her own. Carol knew that Daryl had gotten in and showered pretty late and, even though he'd still been up for breakfast, he hadn't quite dealt with the same emotions as Andrea had—even though he'd dealt with a few because there was guilt for pulling the trigger, even though there'd been no better option.

Carol also knew that Lori was nursing a really foul mood for the fact that, over breakfast, Hershel had shut down her desire to further discuss letting Shane roam free again. Rick was going to talk to him. Rick was going to deal with him. But Hershel didn't want to discuss any thought of reconsidering his verdict that Shane was no longer welcome on the farm.

But Andrea wasn't exactly at the highest point of her life, either.

"No, Carol!" Lori barked. "I'm going to tell the truth. If you want a hot breakfast, then you should get up in time to be at the table. Even better, you might consider making it up in time to help cook breakfast. But you conveniently missed breakfast and dishes, all the way around. There's always lunch, though, right? Or will you be too busy hiding out at the RV like you usually are?"

Carol's stomach was suddenly in knots. Lori had punctuated her anger by throwing the dish towel at the table in Andrea's direction.

Andrea, for her part, looked stunned for a moment. Then something else took over for the stun she must have felt.

"Excuse me," Andrea said, "are you calling the time I spent—learning to handle a rifle and learning to keep watch against Walkers with Dale hiding out? Learning to keep this place safe?"

"This place isn't safe, Andrea," Lori said. "If you haven't noticed, we have Walkers."

"Lori," Carol said. She felt practically pinned down to her spot as though she'd stepped in ankle deep concrete and stayed still long enough for it to set.

"We do have Walkers," Andrea said. "And one of them—one of them killed Dale. But I haven't been on watch for Walkers for a while because it's been too dangerous to go outside. We have a—a madman that you're supporting who's just wandering around out there. A violent…"

"Don't you start with Shane!" Lori barked at Andrea. "He has done nothing to you!"

"Not yet!" Andrea said. "Who's to say he wouldn't? Look what he did to Carol! Who's to say he wouldn't do worse to Carol or Maggie or Beth?"

"You care so much about Beth, don't you?" Lori spit back. "You care so much about her that you tried to get her to kill herself."

"I didn't put a damn gun in her hand, Lori!" Andrea barked. She hit her feet and Carol backed up against the counter near her a bit more because she didn't want to get caught in the middle if the two of them lost their control and this turned into a true catfight. "I gave her space. I gave her room to decide for herself."

"She doesn't get to decide for herself that she wants to commit suicide!" Lori barked back.

Carol rocked Sophia who was, surprisingly, much less bothered by the yelling taking place in the kitchen than she was whenever any of the men around her wanted to raise their voices too loud.

"She absolutely does get to decide!" Andrea said. "She has to decide! She knows she wants to live, now, so she will! If you take her choices away, she'll find a way if she really wants to do it."

"Just like you?" Lori asked.

"I chose to live," Andrea said. "I may not know that—what I'm hoping for? I may not know that I'm going to get it. But I chose to live. I can see that makes you angry. But Beth—she had to make her own choices. There's not that much hope left in the world, Lori. She had to decide if there was enough for her to hold onto."

"She should understand that suicide is not an option," Lori said. "You should have made that clear. This world isn't easy for any of us, Andrea."

Andrea laughed to herself.

"Least of all for you," Andrea said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lori asked.

"I won't count Carol's husband as a treasured loss," Andrea said, "but he was her husband and he was a loss. She nearly lost her daughter. She was attacked and brutalized by Shane. She was threatened. She was demeaned and made to sit there and listen while you…while you defended him."

"Shane has been through a lot," Lori said.

"And Carol hasn't?" Andrea asked. "Look at Daryl. He's lost his brother and, though Merle may have been more trouble than he was worth most of the time, Daryl loved him. I have lost…I have lost everything, Lori. Everything. I have nothing left. But you? The hardest thing in your life is that you had to wash dishes without an extra person to split the chore with."

"You don't know anything about my life," Lori said. "I thought I lost Rick. And I have…I…Rick works for this group. He advocates for this group and he worries about this group all the time! My son was shot! This hasn't been easy for me, either!"

Andrea laughed to herself. Carol wondered, for just a moment, if she might actually slip over that last little barrier that held them all in the plane of sanity.

"Your husband came back," Andrea said. "Your son is fine. And I can't really say that Rick is advocating for our whole group."

"I'd like to see you do any better!" Lori said. "Everything he's done has been for this group."

"Everything he's done has been for you," Andrea said. "And when we look at it that way? He's doing pretty well. You've practically taken over Hershel's home, you boss around everyone around here, your son took all the antibiotics we had so that…people almost died, Lori."

"But you didn't," Lori pointed out. 

"And I'm sorry that pisses you off," Andrea said.

"OK," Carol said. "Everybody stop. Just stop! This is getting out of hand. This is not who we should be. This is not going to help anyone."

She might as well have not said anything at all. She might as well not even be in the kitchen. The two women were ignoring her entirely.

"Don't act like some kind of martyr," Lori said. "You've had Daryl looking out for you. Dale."

"Daryl gave me antibiotics because he didn't want me to die," Andrea said. "Dale—Dale's dead, Lori. Or maybe you weren't there last night because you were too busy being a martyr and feeling sorry for yourself because, even though you still get to keep your husband, your son, and your…your baby, you might actually have to give up your boyfriend so the rest of us can have just a little peace."

Lori looked at her, open-mouthed. Andrea glared back at Lori.

"You have no right," Lori offered, but there was much less bite behind the words than there had been. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"We all know what I'm talking about," Andrea replied.

Lori looked at Carol, then, but Carol really felt there was relatively little that she could say. Then Lori turned and, without saying anything else, she left the kitchen.

Andrea stayed where she was for a moment, fists balled up tightly at her sides, and then she sat down in the chair where she'd been seated.

"I'm sorry," she breathed out.

"I don't think it's me you owe any sort of apology," Carol offered.

Andrea laughed to herself.

"I didn't say anything I didn't mean," Andrea said. "Even if I didn't mean to say it."

Carol walked over and pulled out the chair across from Andrea. Her intention was to sit with Sophia in her lap, but she thought better about it. She offered the baby over to Andrea. Sophia furrowed her brow at Andrea, and bucked a little like she had no intention of going to her, but as soon as Andrea asked her nicely, she succumbed. She was even more pleased when Andrea moved her close enough to the table that she could reach the cold scrambled eggs on Andrea's plate.

"I won't ask you how you're feeling," Carol said.

"Good," Andrea said. "Because I don't want to talk about it. I'm sorry I missed breakfast and ruined everybody's lives."

Carol laughed to herself.

"Maggie, Beth, Lori, Patricia, and I were all in here," Carol said. "I could have practically prepared the meal on my own. It wasn't that big of a deal."

"But it was the dishes that really pushed her over the edge," Andrea mused. While Sophia filled her mouth with bits of scrambled egg—which had to be cold and disgusting at that point, but she seemed to be enjoying it—to top off her breakfast from earlier, Andrea picked up a piece of the meat from her plate and nibbled at it.

"The worst part about it," Carol said, "is that she really didn't wash that many dishes. She finished up a coffee cup and a few glasses."

"Then it's just me who brings out the best in her," Andrea said with a chuckle.

"You know that's not true," Carol said. She sighed. "She's upset because she tried to reopen the discussion about Shane at breakfast. Rick's talked to him—he's talking to him again. Lori says the way we deal with what Shane's going through isn't by punishing him, it's by supporting him. Keeping him locked in a barn like an animal isn't going to make things better…he needs to feel valued by the group."

"I'm glad Sophia's enjoying my breakfast," Andrea said. "Because that? Makes me not want to eat."

"Hershel didn't really like the discussion," Carol said. "He shut it down. He said that, even if that's the case, he's a veterinarian and not a psychiatrist. And we don't have the resources to deal with this if it's something like a…like a psychotic break or something."

"And so, Lori's mad because I didn't kill myself," Andrea said, "and we obviously had the resources to keep that from happening."

"You didn't break from reality," Carol said. "Neither did Beth. And I don't know if that's what's going on with Shane or…"

"If he's been driven to break from reality," Andrea mumbled. "You can only take so much."

"My point is that you and Beth? It's an entirely different thing," Carol said. "Like you said—you had to decide that you wanted to live. Things haven't been easy for you. And they haven't been fair. And, honestly? I'm sorry if I'm—adding to that in any way."

"Adding to it?"

"I mean Daryl and—Sophia's doing great," Carol said.

"I'm not some kind of animal," Andrea said. She kissed the top of Sophia's head and Sophia offered her a handful of scrambled egg. "You eat it," Andrea told the baby. "Yum, yum…you eat it. Carol—I…I saw what you went through with Ed. Just a little while of it. And Daryl? I'm glad you found him. That you found each other. I'm glad that…Sophia is perfect and growing. Just because I don't have anything? Or—anyone? Jesus—it doesn't mean that I don't want anyone to be happy."

"You will have something," Carol said.

"I appreciate your never-ending optimism," Andrea said.

"I just like to believe that good things come to good people," Carol said. She laughed to herself. "Maybe you don't get the husband, and the boyfriend, and the two kids, but…you're not going to just be alone forever. You'll find someone and you'll have a family."

"Thanks," Andrea said. "Really. That means a lot."

"Until then, you've got us," Carol offered. "You don't have nothing."

"I appreciate it," Andrea said. She frowned at her plate, though, and kept her eyes away from Carol. Carol didn't take it to heart. She wasn't going to tell Andrea how to deal with anything she might be feeling at the moment.

"I have to ask it," Carol said. "Because I care. You—said you decided you're living. That didn't change last night, did it?"

"Everything changed last night," Andrea said. "Except that."

"Good," Carol said. "Eat something. Then we'll see if we can find something to do so Lori can get back to worrying about Shane and not so much about you."

"OK," Andrea said. "But I'm not apologizing, Carol. So, I hope that—you don't think I am."

"She wants to bring Shane into the house," Carol said. "Give him a room to recover in. Possibly just down the hall from my daughter. I'm not asking you to apologize."


	46. Chapter 46

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl and T-Dog burned the Walker that had killed Dale just after breakfast. Then, under Hershel's request, they'd helped him with some work that needed to be done on one of the pumps, providing him with extra hands to make things easier. Daryl employed T-Dog's help in cleaning out a rabbit hutch that was in storage in one of the barns—an item that Hershel said they could use. They moved it to a better location and set it up. Later that afternoon, when Daryl went out checking traps, setting new ones, and looking for whatever they might convert into an evening meal, he bagged the three rabbits he'd snared and, instead of killing them, he delivered them safely to the hutch where he figured they could start to earn their keep by producing more rabbits which could very well mean the difference between meat and no meat during the winter.

Hershel wasn't mentioning them leaving—at least not as a whole group. Over breakfast, Lori had tried to reopen the debate about Shane, and Hershel had made it pretty clear that he wasn't budging on Shane getting off his property, but he wasn't mentioning the rest of them going. Instead, he was casually mentioning the canning that would need to be done. He was casually mentioning getting his old smokehouse up and functioning again for meat. He was talking about preparing for winter, but he certainly wasn't making it sound like he intended for them to be gone before winter came.

Lori could argue for Shane's rights all she wanted. And Rick could get manipulated into helping her all he wanted—though Daryl did think that Rick sometimes looked like he was confused as to exactly why he was defending Shane.

As for Daryl, Shane was better off in the barn and he'd be even better off when he was out there somewhere, far away from the farm. He was a danger to Carol and, now that his attack wasn't a secret, he would probably be a greater danger to her. He may even be a danger to Sophia. There was very little as ruthless as an arrogant man protecting his pride.

His pride, arguably, might even be more valuable to Shane than Lori was.

Daryl was happy with Shane, at the very least, shackled. And Daryl wasn't going to do anything to rock the boat and get them all thrown off the farm. He would gladly play by the old man's rules because he believed, at the end of the day, Hershel's rules were reasonable and he was concerned with the welfare of others. If everything worked out well, Daryl thought might eventually talk Hershel into letting him lay claim to an acre or so of property. He might build a little house just beyond the largest of Hershel's barns. He and Carol might live there with Sophia and have a simple life contributing to the farm and enjoying what the hell the land gave them.

Daryl didn't mind the idea of doing without the stress and strain of the so-called civilization that they'd once known, especially if they could find a way to keep Walkers out.

And he was already thinking about things he might suggest to Hershel to strengthen their defenses.

As evening settled in, and dinner was almost ready to be put on the table, Daryl and T-Dog got tasked with the job of taking a meal out to the barn-dwelling lock-ups that hadn't been disposed of properly yet. Each of them carried a plate and a small jug of water.

"If he starts bitchin' about the food being late again," T-Dog commented, as they crossed the yard.

"Bitch all they want," Daryl commented, "but they oughta be damn happy they gettin' fed. I was gonna feed both of 'em a bullet…so they don't want me to hear complaints over all the hell they got."

T-Dog reached the barns before Daryl because Daryl slowed his steps significantly. Tucking his jug of water under his arm, Daryl burrowed around in his pocket to find the keychain that he'd shoved in there on their way out the door. It held the keys for the barn locks and the handcuff locks, but he only needed the keys to the heavy locks that kept the chains on the doors. He wasn't generous enough to uncuff either of the assholes to eat. They were cuffed in front and he figured that was good enough.

"Daryl…" T-Dog said as he approached the barn.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "Comin'. Damn keychain got hung…"

"We don't need it," T-Dog said.

"The hell are you talkin' about?" Daryl responded.

"The keychain," T-Dog said. "The keys. We don't need 'em. The barns are open."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Daryl repeated. This time, though, he got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He double timed his steps to reach T-Dog and stood there staring at the chains that had held the locks. On each of the two little storage barns, the locks were open and the chains were hanging off the handles.

Daryl dropped the plate and jug he was holding without even thinking about it. He didn't realize that he'd dropped them until the jug, opening on impact with the ground, splashed him with water.

He didn't really need to open the barn doors to know that the handcuffs were going to be every bit as open as the chains had been. Inside the first storage barn, there were the familiar bags of fertilizer and seeds, along with a few buckets and gardening utensils. Those items had been there since the first time they'd opened the old wooden doors. On the floor of the barn was the plate and jug from an earlier meal—one they were meant to take back after dropping off dinner—and a blanket. On the blanket were the discarded set of handcuffs and the chain that had kept the cuffed prisoner somewhat tethered to the wall in their confined space.

The second storage barn looked much the same except that, looking into that barn, the back of it was practically an extra wall of heavy bags of animal feed.

Shane and Randall were both gone. Daryl stepped into the barn where Shane had been held. He picked up the lock and examined it. There was no damage to the lock that he could see. There was no evidence of a struggle and, if a tool had been used to pick the lock, Shane had taken it with him. Daryl stepped out of the barn and walked back to the second. He searched for a tool among the blankets by pushing them around with the toe of his boot, but there was nothing there.

He stepped back outside and examined first one exterior lock and then the other.

T-Dog was standing there, frozen, still holding the plate and water that he'd been given. The plate Daryl had been given, luckily was plastic or it would have broken when it hit the ground with the jug.

"They were picked or opened with a fuckin' key," Daryl said. "Either way, there weren't no chains cut here."

"Maybe Rick took them somewhere," T-Dog offered. "Maybe he took them off and left them somewhere like he was supposed to."

"I never saw the car leave," Daryl pointed out.

"Me either," T-Dog admitted, "but I wasn't really looking, either."

Daryl accepted that for a fraction of a moment. There had been a lot going on. He'd been occupied by other thoughts and he hadn't really given much thought to what anyone else was doing. It was possible that the car had left and he'd let the sound of it simply fade into background noise because it was of little concern to him.

Daryl glanced back over at the farmhouse. The spot where the car would have been parked—the one that Rick would have most likely taken since it was the one he'd taken before—was blocked from Daryl's view by the RV.

"Was Rick in the fuckin' house?" Daryl asked.

T-Dog shrugged.

"I wasn't paying attention to that, either," he admitted.

Daryl picked up the plate off the ground and the jug. He shook off the extra food for the ants and poured the water that was left in the jug over it to somewhat wash it away and minimize the mess.

"Why the fuck didn't he tell anybody what the hell he was doin' 'fore he had us haulin' food out here. Somebody coulda eat this shit…"

Daryl started toward the house. T-Dog was right behind him. With every step he could feel frustration growing. Why in the world would Rick send them out there? Why wouldn't he bother telling them what he'd done? He was too distracted these days and it was starting to show. This shit was minor, but he couldn't go around thinking he had some kind of control over everyone while simultaneously doing whatever the hell he pleased and not even telling anyone what was happening.

By the time they got in the house, Daryl was practically fuming over the whole thing and T-Dog was following him and stammering out ridiculous explanation for why Rick wouldn't even bother informing everyone that he'd taken care of carrying off the garbage.

"Rick!" Daryl called as he walked through the farmhouse. He took the plates directly to the kitchen and, without explanation, put the dirt-covered plate he'd been carrying in the sink. He washed his hands and dried them on his pants. "Rick!"

"He's upstairs," Patricia offered. She was one of several people spooning food from pans into serving dishes to take it to the table—the sound of the front door having signaled Daryl and T-Dog's return would mean they were preparing to go to the table for the evening meal. Everyone else would be washing up to get ready to eat.

"Daryl? Is something wrong?" Carol asked.

"What do you need with Rick?" Lori asked.

Daryl ignored all their questions and left the kitchen. He walked to the bottom of the stairs and called up.

"Rick!"

Rick came almost instantly down the stairs. As he descended, he cocked his head to the side.

"Is there something wrong, Daryl?" Rick asked.

"Yeah there's somethin' wrong," Daryl said. "When the hell was you gonna tell me and T-Dog that we didn't need to haul plates out there to feed Shane and Randall?"

Rick laughed to himself, but Daryl got the feeling it wasn't really sincere. He stood on the bottom step with his hand still on the railing.

"Are we planning on starving them out now or something?" Rick asked.

By now, dinner was abandoned in favor of seeing what all the fuss was about. Daryl got the feeling he was being surrounded and glanced around him to see that was essentially true. Even T-Dog, who arguably knew as much about the situation as Daryl did beyond the inspections of the locks and chains that Daryl had done, was looking at him like he had no idea what he was about to say.

"When did you haul Shane and Randall outta here?" Daryl asked.

"What are you talking about?" Rick asked.

"Shane and Randall," Daryl said. "When did you take 'em outta the damn barns and off the farm?"

Rick furrowed his brow at Daryl.

"I haven't left the farm today," Rick said. "I've only been out to the barns once, and that was this morning."

Daryl's stomach dropped. He was pretty sure it was located somewhere between his feet. He had a sinking suspicion that something might be up, but he'd been able to push it back with the explanation that Rick had taken them off the farm. He'd been able to keep his worries at bay by focusing on being annoyed at Rick's little self-engrossed slip.

"Shane and Randall ain't out there," Daryl said.

Rick dropped down off the step and started toward the door. In the nature of every person who had ever heard something they couldn't process and proceeded to do something stupid about it, Rick walked to the door and looked out like he could see the little barns and their contents or lack thereof.

Instantly, Daryl knew that Rick had nothing to do with it. Rick wasn't a stellar actor, and he was absolutely shocked.

"What do you mean they aren't out there?" Rick asked.

"I mean the barns were open," Daryl said. "And the cuffs were just layin' on the floor."

"They escaped?" Glenn asked.

"Mighta found a way to slip the cuffs," Daryl said. "But that's some fuckin' Houdini shit to get out. The barn was locked from the outside."

"Where are the keys?" Hershel asked.

Daryl reached in his pocket and produced the keys on the plastic tag that advertised a feed store that must have been in the area.

"Where's the other set?" Hershel asked. "Rick? I gave it to you."

"And I gave it to Glenn," Rick said. "Today when he took lunch."

"And I put it back on the hook when I came in from taking them lunch," Glenn said.

"It's on the hook," Andrea called out. "It's right here…"

"Did you lock the damn doors back?" Daryl asked. "Who else went with you?"

"Maggie," Glenn said quickly. "It was Maggie—and me. We took lunch. We opened the doors, gave them the food. Picked up the breakfast dishes. And we left. The same as always. Maggie fed Randall. I fed Shane."

"Did he say anything?" Rick asked. "Talk to you?"

"Same thing he always said," Glenn said. "He was innocent. I had to let him out of there. It wasn't how we handle things."

"Randall begged like he always does," Maggie said. "Tried to promise he'd help us out or something."

"And you locked the doors back?" Daryl asked.

They looked at each other. The look they exchanged couldn't have been easier to read if they'd actually shrugged at one other.

"Did you lock the damn doors back or not?" Daryl asked.

"It doesn't matter," Rick said.

Daryl wanted to point out that it mattered a great deal. But pointing that out would only lead to more discussion and, perhaps, disagreement. It would lead to wasting time. They didn't really have time to waste.

"We gotta look for 'em," Daryl said. "They're loose. We don't know what Randall's capable of, but we know Shane. We know he's crazy and we know what the hell he's capable of."

"If the whole idea was to get rid of them," Lori offered, "then why not just be happy we're rid of them? Isn't that what you all wanted? That they'd be gone?"

"Miles from here," Daryl said. "Not in our backyard an' not pissed off. There's no tellin' what they might do."

For once, Rick seemed to agree with him. He nodded his head and turned around to address the group—everyone, by this point, having crowded around together.

"Everybody stay in the house," Rick said. "Hershel, Glenn, Jimmy? Keep watch here. Me and Daryl and T-Dog will walk the perimeter. They had to leave on foot—we'll see if we can't figure out where they went."


	47. Chapter 47

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111

They walked the perimeter of the farm looking for signs of where Shane and Randall might have gone. There was more than one set of footprints, though, and not much that Daryl could follow without a little more indication of where to look for the correct trail.

"I don't fuckin' know without followin' what I'm seein' for a while," Daryl said. "Could be them. Could be Walkers. Hell—could be other things. Only thing I can tell you is that there's been some decently heavy traffic through here in the last couple days."

"Maybe we should just let them go," Rick said.

"It ain't the lettin' go I'm worried about," Daryl said. "It's the comin' back."

"We keep watch," Rick said. "We have people on guard twenty-four seven."

"And fuckin' what, Rick?" Daryl asked. "We gotta decide that because that's where the hell our trouble's been for all this time. That's why the hell we out here in the first damn place. So, what do we do when we see 'em comin' back, Rick? We shoot 'em when we see 'em or we offer 'em some damn lemonade? Nobody else wants 'em around, Rick. Nobody but your wife. Maybe your son. Maybe you. But nobody else wants 'em back."

Rick looked like he might respond. He clearly thought about it a second and opened his mouth to respond, but he never got a clear opportunity because he was interrupted by shouting. It was coming from the woods, and it kept coming.

Daryl immediately recognized the voice as Shane's and he raised his crossbow and prepared to fire it.

Shane stumbled into sight among the trees, calling out for Rick.

"Rick! Rick—you gotta help! You gotta help—it's Randall! He got loose! He's got a gun, Rick! He's got a gun and—he wants revenge! He wants the farm! We gotta stop him before he gets too far! He said he's got a camp!"

Rick reached over and touched Daryl's crossbow to suggest that he should lower it. Daryl did lower it so that it wasn't pointing straight at Shane's face—a face that was bloodied from what appeared to be a broken nose, or, rather, a re-broken nose since Daryl had broken it once before—but he didn't drop his guard entirely.

"Slow down," Rick said, employing the cop voice that immediately ground on every one of Daryl's nerves. "What happened?"

"He got fuckin' loose," Shane said.

"What do you mean he got loose?" Daryl asked. "How the hell'd he get loose? He was chained up in a damn barn that was chained up from the outside."

"I don't know," Shane said. "I don't know, man. I guess he must've picked the locks. Figured out how to get out. Maybe someone forgot to lock the door. Glenn and Maggie came out there—they don't always pay attention. The point is—he told me I had to go with him. He had a gun. I didn't have a choice. He has a camp and he's going to bring his people back here to try to take the farm."

"Where the hell'd he get a gun from?" Daryl asked.

"I don't know!" Shane barked. "We're wasting time! He's out there and every minute we stand here arguing he's getting closer to doing something."

"Shit don't sound right to me," Daryl offered. "Not considering the source."

Shane—with the broken-again nose, who had been kidnapped by Randall and forced to leave, and who had come back to try to save the group—somewhat lunged at Daryl, but caught himself.

"You're wasting time with all this bullshit!" Shane spat.

Rick immediately reached his hands out and pressed them against Shane's chest.

"Easy, brother," Rick said. "We'll walk the woods. Look for Randall. Daryl—why don't you and T-Dog go that way, and Shane and I'll go that way. We'll cover more ground that way."

"Good idea," Daryl said. "Spread out. I need a little space."

Daryl stayed where he was for a few moments and watched as Rick and Shane walked off. T-Dog stood beside him and waited patiently for the two men to disappear into the woods. When they were gone, T-Dog spoke.

"You believe any of that?" He asked.

"I believe he got out," Daryl said, "because the barns are empty. I believe somethin' broke his nose again or knocked it outta place again or somethin', but I don't know what the hell it was. You?"

"If it weren't for the blood," T-Dog said, "I doubt I'd believe his nose was broken."

"All the same, we gonna look for Randall," Daryl said. "And if we find him, we're gonna finish this shit. Be careful, though. Keep an eye out. Just in case Shane ain't lyin' and some damn way he got himself a gun."

Daryl chose to go in the direction from which Shane had come. Having freshly come through there, he left a distinct path. It seemed only logical to Daryl that Shane would come directly from wherever he managed to get away from Randall—if even a single word of his story could be counted on to be true—and that would at least give Daryl a strong starting point to help him find some kind of trail to follow in order to track down Randall.

Following the trail wasn't that hard. As Daryl walked, T-Dog followed right behind. He didn't bug him and he didn't ask him a lot of questions. He simply let Daryl do what he needed to do, and he kept watch around them to help Daryl make sure that they weren't about to end up getting caught on the wrong side of a gun. He also did his part by putting down the two Walkers that they happened upon while they were searching.

It was T-Dog, though, that noticed Randall first. Daryl was busy looking down—directly down—while T-Dog scanned the area around them. When he got Daryl's attention, he barked his name a couple of times and wildly tapped him on the shoulder.

Randall was lying in the thick leaves around them.

"So, he broke out the fuckin' barn like damn Houdini," Daryl said. "Conjured up a fuckin' gun. Kidnapped Shane, broke his nose again, an' then he just got bit?"

T-Dog closed the distance and approached the body. He bent down and turned the body over so that Randall was face up. Then he rolled the body a bit more and searched it.

"I don't see any blood," T-Dog said. "No bites. I mean his face is a little bloody, but…"

"What?" Daryl asked. "What the hell you mean? He's a little damn young to just be dyin' for the hell of it."

Daryl leaned down by the body and searched it over quickly for a bite. There wasn't one. He furrowed his brow at T-Dog.

"There's clear signs of a struggle here," Daryl said. "Dirt an' leaves kicked up. Someone busted him in the face. Walkers don't usually throw punches."

"The last Walker we saw wasn't bloody," T-Dog said. "And there's no blood on the body."

"No," Daryl said. "But—look at this."

"What?" T-Dog asked.

"This," Daryl said. "This right here. His neck's broke. You see a gun over there?"

"No," T-Dog said, looking around. "He could have dropped it. It could be in the leaves."

"It ain't in the fuckin' leaves," Daryl said. "And he died from a broken neck. I don't know what the hell happened, but I know what the hell didn't happen. Come on—let's get back to the farm. Make sure everyone's OK there."

"What about Rick and Shane?" T-Dog asked.

"Rick's a big boy," Daryl said. "And he's been sayin' he can handle Shane and he can talk to Shane. Let him have him. Right now, I'm more worried about shit runnin' downhill to the farmhouse."

"Yeah," T-Dog said. "Yeah, you're right. Besides—Rick and Shane'll probably come back there. We can tell them about Randall then."

"Them coming back there's what I'm worried about." Daryl walked over and, pulling is knife out of his belt, he slammed it through Randall's eye. "I don't wanna worry about him comin' back, too," Daryl said.

T-Dog didn't argue with Daryl. There was really nothing to argue about and Daryl was leaving, one way or another, so T-Dog's choices were either to continue to wander alone through the woods or to accompany Daryl back toward the farmhouse.

It was starting to get dark. Night was quickly descending around them. It wouldn't be long before it was really too dark to be out wandering around.

On their way down the hill they heard a gunshot ring out. It was impossible to tell where it came from and it only made them both pick up their steps.

For the time being, their tent-town was abandoned. There were lights in almost all the windows of the farmhouse, giving it that warm and welcoming glow of just another night. Daryl was relieved to see it because, in the absence of chaos, he knew that everything was fine. There were no problems. They would have plenty of time to prepare for anything that Shane might be planning.

Andrea met them as they were nearing the porch with one of Dale's guns in her hands.

"What's goin' on?" Daryl asked her. "Was that you that fired the gun?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Andrea said.

"Probably just a random shot, then," Daryl said. "Someone else. Somewhere else. Far away—just carried. Hell, at least I hope that's what it was. Anything happen here?"

Nothing yet," Andrea said. "I've been keeping watch in case Randall and Shane somehow missed you and showed up here."

"Randall ain't gonna be showin' up anywhere," Daryl said.

Before he could really tell Andrea anymore of the story, the porch door opened and at least half of their group spilled out in search of explanation.

"What's going on?" Lori asked. "Where's Rick?"

"We found Shane," Daryl said.

"Where is he?" Lori asked. "Where's Rick?"

"Shane said that Randall got out the barn somehow," Daryl said. "Said he got a gun from somewhere. Said he came an' forced him to go with him. He had a group somewhere and they were gonna show up here and try to take the farm by force or whatever."

"Where are Rick and Shane?" Lori asked.

"He's trying to tell us!" Andrea barked.

Daryl held his hand up at her to calm her. The two of them had been going at each other for a bit, and Daryl didn't want any more drama to deal with.

"As I was sayin'," Daryl said, "Shane said Randall—beat him up or somethin'. I don't know. He weren't with Randall an' his face was bloody. So, they went off lookin' for Randall one way, and we went off lookin' for Randall the other. We found Randall."

"Did you kill him?" Andrea asked.

"Didn't have to," T-Dog said. "He was already dead. With a busted lip and a broken neck."

"What happened to him?" Lori asked.

"Being as I didn't have my damned crystal ball," Daryl said, "I'm not exactly sure. What I do know know is that we ought to be on guard in case it ain't Randall that we ever had to be worried about wantin' to do somethin' to the farm. We oughta be on guard in case anybody comes back here lookin' for trouble."

"Where's Rick?" Lori asked.

Daryl narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth to keep from losing his temper with the woman. He tried to make it a point to be as nice to women as he could—even when they really deserved to be told just how fucking annoying they were—but Lori was trying him. Thankfully, T-Dog understood that and stepped in.

"Rick's with Shane," T-Dog said.

"And you just left him out there when you don't know what happened?" Lori asked.

"We came here to tell you to watch out," Daryl said. "Get the guns. Get in the house. Be prepared. If you don't gotta do nothin', great, but it's better to be ready for whatever the hell might be coming our way."

"Daryl's right," Hershel offered. "We'll go in the house. We'll keep watch from inside. But we'll stay in the house."

"You can't just leave Rick out there!" Lori barked.

"He's a big damned boy," Daryl said. "And Shane's his best friend, right? His partner. Shane's—turnin' over a new fuckin' leaf. Nothin' for us to be worried about. Sorry for all he's done, right? That's what the hell you been tellin' us. So there ain't no need to worry. Rick's out there with Shane."

"You know he's…you have to go after Rick," Lori said. "He doesn't know what happened to Randall."

"Neither do I," Daryl said.

"Maybe Shane doesn't know either," Lori said. "Maybe there's some other threat out there. Some other people. Shane said Randall had a group. Maybe something happened and they killed him. Maybe they're out there right now with Rick and Shane and…they don't even know."

Daryl growled to himself.

"Fine!" He yelled. "Get in the damn house. All of you. Stay in there. Keep the doors locked. Keep some guns close by. Be ready if anything happens. T and me'll see if—if we can't find Rick."

Daryl was more than aware that nobody moved into the house immediately. He was more than aware that they remained on the porch, waiting to see what might happen or letting things sink in, and he was aware that Andrea remained several feet from the porch with Dale's gun in her hands. He knew it would take a few minutes for them to actually take what he'd said to heart and to move toward protecting themselves in the house.

At any rate, he and T-Dog turned and started back across the field and back toward the woods.

When Daryl stopped, T-Dog stopped, too. It was hard to tell if he stopped just because Daryl did or because he saw the same thing that Daryl saw.

It took a moment to distinguish, with the tricks that the hour played on their eyes, what was happening. For just a moment, it looked like the trees were moving.

And then Daryl realized what it was.

He turned quickly and started back toward the house to warn them. He didn't have to go far because most of them were still on the porch. Andrea was still several feet away, frozen to her spot for a moment.

They saw it, too.

Rick and Shane were on their own. For the time being, it seemed that Shane might be the least of their worries.

"Walkers!" Daryl yelled out, running for the house to grab whatever he could to help fight off the veritable wall of Walkers that was marching toward the farm.


	48. Chapter 48

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here!**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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They tried to meet the herd while it was still some distance away from the farmhouse with the idea of taking care of the problem before the herd was able to get close to the farm and, with the sheer force of the combined number of Walkers, destroy any and everything they needed for survival.

The herd that they were facing, however, was enormous and, arguably, their defenses were minimal. They hardly had enough weapons to go around, they were low on ammunition for those weapons, and there weren't enough hands to engage the Walkers with knives and to have any hope of success.

Around him, Daryl watched as chaos erupted.

People, when they were desperate, would do nearly anything.

He fought alongside everyone that was fighting for as long as he could. He fought long enough to drain all the ammunition that he'd been able to scrounge for two guns. He fought long enough to see the largest barn on Hershel's property catch on fire. And, when someone moved the RV toward the barn for some reason, he saw that burn as well.

He fought long enough to hear every variety of screaming.

When he saw the flaming Walkers coming through the fire of the barn and heading straight for the farmhouse, though, Daryl knew that it was time to stop fighting.

He ran back toward the farmhouse, yelling at Carol and the others that it was time to go. It was time to take any vehicle that would move and it was time to get off the farm. There was a moment when everyone had to know that a situation was hopeless.

Daryl had grabbed one of the small sacks of ammunition and firearms out of the larger bag they had. In the sack he had tossed around his shoulder, there was one revolver left and a small, opened box of bullets. He didn't bother to count the bullets, but he knew it was only a matter of moments before they all ran out.

As Carol and Lori and whoever else was in the house started to make a run for it toward the vehicles, Daryl put his attention into using the few bullets he had left to hold back the Walkers that were headed for them. He couldn't stop them all, but he could at least do everything possible to clear a path for them.

Picking off one Walker at a time felt like it was taking a lifetime. Reloading the gun every six shots meant that Daryl felt like he was constantly holding back the flood just to have it catch him every time he stopped to reload. He focused only on what he was doing and what was in front of him. He tried not to focus on the screaming. He tried not to focus on the sound of Sophia crying. He tried to focus only on what he wanted to achieve.

He wanted to buy them time.

When the last round of the bullets was in the chambers of the revolver, Daryl tossed the bag he'd been carrying on the ground. He used the last of the six bullets to make a path for himself toward the truck that he and Carol had come in—his brother's bike still strapped to the back. It was parked, keys in the ignition, like he'd left it. It cranked after a moment of hesitation that made him utter more than one word of profanity.

Once he was in the truck, and not immediately exposed to the Walkers that were coming like a flood, Daryl looked around and tried to figure out what to do—where to go.

Vehicles were leaving. He could see taillights around him. He could see them driving off the farm. People were getting out.

Rather than drive straight down the driveway, Daryl drove through the yard of the farmhouse. He bumped Walkers out of the way as he went, searching for any signs of the living among the dead.

With the high concentration of Walkers that had overtaken the farm, Daryl was fairly sure that there were no more living people around. He cracked the windows, listening for sounds of life. He heard when part of the structure of the barn gave way and crashed to the ground. He heard the distant sound of engines. He heard the screaming of fire and the growling of Walkers. He heard the last lonely pops of gunfire as someone, somewhere, reached the end of their fight either by losing to Walkers or by running out of bullets.

As he turned around, heading back across the field this time, planning to cut across it and escape out the driveway, he heard something else that made him take his foot off the gas and switch it quickly to the brake.

The cry was very distinctly a cry for help. A desperate cry for help. It was so desperate, in fact, that it turned Daryl's stomach before he even recognized the voice and before he even heard the sound of a baby's cries echoing out over the noises around him.

Daryl rolled his window down a little so that he could see out. Letting the truck idle forward, he hung out of the window with a knife to kill any Walker that approached him. He searched as well as he could to find some evidence that he wasn't hallucinating the sound. He had almost given up, sure that he was imagining things, when he saw the movement.

She stood out from the Walkers because she moved quickly and defensively. She didn't move in a straight line and her struggle was evident from where Daryl was idling along. In one arm, she held the baby—and, clearly, she was losing strength—in the other she held a stick that she was brandishing like a club to try to beat back any Walker that neared her.

Daryl turned the truck quickly to line it up with her path. He wanted her to be able to climb directly into the passenger side door, without too much effort, so that they had a chance of escaping the Walkers that were interested in consuming both mother and daughter. He wished for more of the bullets he'd spent, but there were only three in the chamber of his gun.

To shoot in her direction and clear a path would mean that he'd have to trust his skills immensely. One slip and he'd kill her and, when she went down, the Walkers would have Sophia before he could even react.

And he'd rather turn the gun on himself.

Daryl put the truck in park and slithered across the seat. He pushed the door open and yelled at her to make sure that she saw him. He wanted her to know that he saw her. She wasn't alone. She should keep coming—she should keep doing what she was doing. Instead of shooting in her direction, Daryl picked off the few Walkers that he thought might stumble in her direction to keep her from having to deal with more than she already had on her plate.

By the time she reached the truck, she looked to be seconds from collapse. She could barely lift Sophia up enough—practically carrying her like a football at this point—to get her in the truck. Daryl grabbed the baby and pulled her inside before he reached across the wailing infant to grab Carol and practically drag her into the truck. She closed the door and screamed at the Walker that immediately appeared at the cracked window.

"Hold the baby," Daryl commanded, quickly winding his window up and changing the truck back into drive. "Could be bumpy."

Daryl didn't have to tell Carol twice. She already had the miserable, screaming baby wrapped in her arms. Sophia had no way of knowing what was happening, and they had no way of explaining it to her. She was terrified, and rightly so. They were all terrified. If they hadn't long been taught to behave a certain way, it would be entirely reasonable to expect that they'd all be screaming and crying as desperately as the baby was.

The sinking feeling in Daryl's stomach that he'd felt earlier—a feeling that everything was gone and all hope was gone with it—had passed. His energy was renewed now with an urgency to get as far away from the farm as possible. He navigated toward the driveway in the best way he could to avoid hitting as many Walkers as possible. The last thing he needed was a body caught up under the wheels that would jam them and stick the truck into place.

He was relieved when the tires found the driveway, and he was even more relieved when they found the pavement of the road. He drove some distance, without saying anything, until the herd started to thin and there weren't Walkers crowding the road. When he thought it was safe for just a moment, he pulled the truck to a stop in the middle of the road and put it in park. He flicked on the interior light.

He turned to Carol.

She was staring straight ahead, breathing hard, with Sophia wrapped in her arms. Sophia's screaming had turned to pathetic sobbing.

"Everything OK?" Daryl asked.

"I can't look," Carol said.

"What?" Daryl asked.

Carol broke down then, and released a few sobs of her own before she got them under control.

"Sophia," she said. "I can't—look. I don't know if she's OK, and I can't look. All I could do was—keep going."

"You did good," Daryl offered softly. "You did—what the hell you was supposed to do. You did everything right. Got her off the farm. Couldn't do no better."

"I don't know if she's alright," Carol repeated, "and I'm too scared to look."

Daryl understood that Carol was absolutely frozen because of her fear. He reached over and slipped his fingers around the baby that was hugged against her mother's chest. Sophia's cries got a little louder at first, but they subsided as she accepted that it was Daryl who was touching her.

"Shhhhh…" Daryl said, for the benefit of everyone in the cab. "Shhhh…I got'cha. Carol—open your arms. I got her."

Daryl pulled the little girl over to him. She went rigid for a second, so he rested her feet on his legs. She usually liked when he did that, and she would stand with him holding her. She maintained her rigidity for a second, but then she relaxed into the familiar position with his hands at her waist. And then, slowly, she stopped crying with more than a hiccupping sob and stared at him.

He turned her around and around and looked her over. He checked under her clothes, holding her up with one hand and then the other while he searched. By the time he was done, she'd calmed down in appreciation of their strange new game.

"She's fine," Daryl said. "Fine—just fine. I can't find even so much as a scratch on her."

"Oh, thank God…" Carol breathed out next to him.

"I'm good. Nothin' hardly touched me. What about you?" Daryl asked. "You bit? Scratched?"

"No," Carol said. "I'm fine. I don't feel anything."

"Lemme, see," Daryl said. "Please." He added.

Carol looked at him, then. She turned her body somewhat—one way and then the other. If she was bitten or scratched, there was no obvious source of blood.

"You got some blood on your shirt," Daryl offered.

"Splattered," Carol said. She lifted up her shirt to show him her torso. She was clean. There was no blood on her body. Seeing her shirt lifted, too, got Sophia's attention in a whole new way. She leaned toward Carol—practically toppling herself where Daryl was still holding her, balanced on her feet on his leg, with his hands around her ribcage. She cried out and reached toward Carol and he moved to pass her over.

"What if the blood—soaked through my clothes and she gets some of it?" Carol asked, pushing her daughter away.

"Look under the seats," Daryl said with a laugh. "You stashed a shit ton of baby stuff under there. Bound to be some wipes or water and a cloth or somethin' to wash you off."

Carol looked relieved at something so simple in the midst of so much complication and chaos. Daryl pushed Sophia toward her. "Take her. I'ma get us outta here."

"Where are we going?" Carol asked. "Back to the highway," Daryl said. "We gonna drive down it. Maybe that's where everybody is. Maybe they all got out. I didn't pay attention enough to see who left."

Carol found something to clean herself up and then she switched the overhead light off as she got Sophia settled to soothe herself with nursing.

"I saw Patricia die," Carol said.

Daryl's stomach twisted. He hated the thought of losing the woman.

"You sure like—like she's dead?" Daryl asked.

"I'm sure," Carol said. "I saw Andrea go down. She—she saved me and Sophia. She stopped them from getting us. We were trapped behind the house. I got away, but I saw her go down."

"She mighta got back up, though," Daryl said. "You didn't see her die?"

"I ran," Carol said. "She stopped them and…she went down and I just ran. I should've helped her."

"You had your hands full," Daryl said. "Besides—sounds like…" He stopped and chewed on it a moment simply because the words, though he wanted to say them, got hung somewhere. He tapped Carol and pointed to the glove box. She didn't need more than that. She looked inside, found a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and offered him one. She even lit it for him before she dropped the pack and lighter on the seat between them. When Daryl was sure he was ready to continue talking, he did. "Sounds like that's what she wanted. You an' Sophia to get the hell outta there."

"She could be dead," Carol said. "I didn't even help her…and she could be dead. Or she could still be at the farm."

"Could be," Daryl admitted. "Or could be in one of the other cars."

"The cars were gone, Daryl," Carol said. "That's why I was running…we got chased around the back of the farmhouse and by the time I made it around front, everyone was driving off."

"We'll find her on the highway. Watch the road—maybe she comes out any minute. But I want you to listen—it's Andrea. And people ain't always liked—they ain't always liked what she's decided, but she ain't never really gone off half-cocked. Even when she was…even if they didn't like what the hell she was thinkin', she done what the hell she done 'cause it's what she thought was the best thing to do. She'd tell you that, too. She done what the hell she thought was best an' she weren't sorry for her decisions. So, if she saved you an' Sophia? It didn't have a thing to do with hopin' you'd save her back. You done what the hell you was supposed to do. What she wanted you to do. You got Sophia off the farm."

"Did you see anyone?" Carol asked.

"Plenty of people," Daryl said. "Didn't identify none of 'em."

"Lori lost Carl," Carol said.

"He got killed?" Daryl asked.

"He got lost," Carol said. "I mean—she lost Carl. She couldn't find him in the house when we were leaving. When we first made a run for it. I don't know if she found him. Andrea and I got separated from her."

"Everybody's gonna be on the highway," Daryl offered. "We'll find 'em all there. Re-group. They all gonna be on the highway."

"Daryl—what if they're not?" Carol asked.

"Then we keep going," Daryl offered. "Because it's what the hell we gotta do."

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 **AN: I'm sorry for those who are canon purists and maybe wanted this to be much more according to canon. I hope you forgive me.**

 **It should be noted that I'm just assuming that everyone knows what Jenner said at the CDC. I'm not making a huge deal of the "we're all infected" situation.**

 **I hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to let me know what you think!**


	49. Chapter 49

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I'll start putting this out there. I go back to work the day after tomorrow, so I'll be back to my regular update when I can schedule.**

 **I hope you all enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl clearly wasn't the only one to have the idea to meet back on the highway.

Arriving there had taken far longer than Daryl had planned. There seemed to be Walkers everywhere on the road. They weren't thick, like they had been on the farm, but they were definitely road hazards. He assumed that they were driving through the tail end of the herd that was drawn, for whatever reason, toward the farm but, for all he knew, there may be more than one herd around.

As they rode, Carol remained quiet enough that Daryl wasn't sure if she was awake or just didn't feel like talking. He didn't bother her, though, because he didn't exactly feel chatty after the events that had taken place.

After she nursed, Sophia drifted off to sleep in her mother's arms. She was, arguably, the most resilient of all of them. She understood nothing of what had happened, and she understood nothing of the shadow of uncertainty that was cast over them as they drove through the dark Georgia countryside.

When they finally reached the highway, things were a little clearer. The road wasn't too hard to navigate back to the snare that had caught them before. Daryl knew that, according to Hershel and Maggie, that snare was just the beginning of the traffic problems that lie ahead if they were to insist on travelling via the highway.

For now, though, they were just headed back to a familiar place to see if they could find some familiar faces.

As they approached the traffic snare, evidence that they hadn't been the only ones who had thought of such a thing came into view. Apparently, they'd decided to use what was left of the battery power in the wrecked cars around the snare, and they'd switched on their lights to act as a beacon to any and everyone who was making their grand escape from the farm.

Daryl pulled the truck up close enough for those gathered there to see that it was him, but not close enough to make it difficult to back out when he was ready to leave the cluster.

"You awake?" He asked into the darkness.

"Yeah," Carol said softly.

Daryl lit a cigarette and rolled down the window. They had the attention of the people gathered there, but nobody was really scrambling toward them. Everyone was gathered around, clustered up, and leaning on vehicles or sitting on the ground. It was dark. They were tired. They'd just been through a traumatic experience. They had nowhere to go and it was the middle of the night.

Daryl had time for a cigarette.

"Looks like we're the last ones here," Daryl mused.

"I don't see Andrea," Carol said mournfully.

Daryl's stomach twisted. The whole trip from the farm to the highway, he'd kept his eyes on the road and the woods surrounding it. He'd hoped, unreasonably, perhaps, that Andrea would run out any moment and beg him to stop the truck to let her in.

"I don't see Shane," Daryl said. "Or Jimmy."

"Patricia," Carol said. "I knew she wouldn't be here, but…maybe a part of me still wanted to hope."

"I see Carl," Daryl said. "Lori found him." He sucked in a breath and let it out. "Let's go figure out what we're doing." He glanced over at Carol. "Hey—how's that shoulder?"

"What?" Carol asked.

"The shoulder," Daryl said. "You just run a damn marathon carrying Sophia on that side. How's your shoulder?"

"It's fine," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"If you was fuckin' on fire yourself, you'd tell me you everything was fine. Pass her here, I got her for a bit."

Carol seemed like she might protest, but then she surprised him. Instead of fighting him on it, she moved to allow him to take the baby. He finished his cigarette and flicked the butt out the window before he gathered Sophia into his arms and got out the truck. Carol spilled out on her side and, together, they headed toward the group that was gathered in the glow of the stranded cars' headlights.

"I think we might be the last ones," Daryl said as they approached. "I haven't seen any headlights and I didn't see nobody else drivin' out when I was leavin'. Rick—Shane was with you?"

"Shane's dead," Rick said.

"Jimmy?" Carol asked.

"We saw him, too," Rick said. "He didn't make it off the farm."

"We lost Patricia," Lori said.

"I was there. That was before we got separated," Carol said.

"What about Andrea?" Rick asked.

"She saved Sophia and me," Carol said. "She went down, but…I kept going with Sophia."

"We were hopin' she got up," Daryl said. "Found the road. Thought she might even be here."

"If she went down in all that," Lori offered, "then she didn't make it off the farm."

"I only saw her go down," Carol said. "I didn't see her die…"

"The farm was overrun," Rick said. "If she didn't leave in a vehicle…she probably didn't make it back up."

"We don't know that," Daryl said. "She coulda made a run for it."

"Her lungs have been so damaged that she couldn't handle being around the fires or…anything," Lori said. She left the meaning behind her words—and possibly her own feelings behind them—hanging in silence.

"We'll go back," Daryl said. "Drive back by the farm. Make sure we didn't miss her. Herd'll be moving on. Thinning out."

"There's no use," Rick insisted.

"We can't just leave her there," Daryl said.

"We're not leaving her there," Rick said. "Listen, I know you care. We all care. But—the reality of it is that she's not there anymore. She's either dead—joined the herd—or she's gone. She couldn't stay around in that. One way or another, the farm is gone and Andrea's gone too."

Daryl's stomach ached. He knew that Rick was right. Andrea was gone. She couldn't have simply stayed on the farm. None of them could have stayed there. If she lived, she had to run. And if she was out there, running, she probably wasn't going to last long, but finding her without any idea of where she might be would be impossible.

"So—she's gone," Daryl said. "Farm's gone. What do we do?"

"We keep moving," Rick said. "Just like we were going to do before. We keep moving."

"The highway's jammed up with cars," Hershel said. "I can tell you that the next twenty or thirty miles are pretty much impassable."

"You know any back ways?" Daryl asked.

"Back ways to what?" Hershel asked. "Back ways to where?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"From what I'm hearing, it don't matter. Back ways to somewhere that ain't Atlanta and ain't this traffic snare."

"People are exhausted," Maggie offered. "We need to mourn our dead. We need to sleep and we need to eat."

"We need to put some distance between us and that herd," Daryl said. "That's my input on this. Wherever the hell we go and whatever the hell we do? We need some distance between us and them. Because they on the move and the last thing we want is to sit still here long enough for them to be on top of us."

"I know some back roads that might be clear enough to get us ten or twenty miles away before we hit something impassable," Hershel said.

"Good enough," Rick said. "Let's go as far as we can get. Then we'll talk about—eating and sleeping. As for mourning the dead? Everyone's just going to have to do that while we're in the cars."

While Daryl might not like the idea that they were blindly going toward nothing they could identify, he didn't have any answers at the moment that were any better than the ones they already had. They had to get away from the herd. They needed distance between them and the mass of Walkers that was currently migrating—or whatever Walkers did—and then, maybe, they could figure something out.

"Hershel—you gonna lead?" Daryl asked.

The old man simply nodded his head and took his people back toward the vehicle. When Daryl moved back toward the truck, Carol did so without him having to tell her that they were going. In the truck, he passed Sophia back to her, lit another cigarette for himself, and cranked the truck to prepare to fall in line once the caravan started moving.

"Where are we going?" Carol asked.

"Hell if I know," Daryl said. "We'll go as far as Hershel can take us and then…"

"That's what I'm mostly worried about," Carol said, "the 'and then' part. If we're being honest? We didn't know where we were going before."

"I imagine Rick's gonna pick back up with what he wanted before," Daryl said. "He's gonna wanna go to Washington. Look for civilization. People."

"I think we just saw what happens to large groups of people, Daryl," Carol said. "We know we're not the only ones left, sure, but I don't know…if I expect Washington to just be functioning. I don't know if I can just believe they forgot about Georgia."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"They ain't just forgot about Georgia," Daryl said. "And I said that's what Rick's gonna want to do. I didn't say it was a good idea or that there weren't nobody gonna fight him on it."

"What do you think is best?" Carol asked.

Sophia started to wake. She could sleep pretty solidly, but as soon as she was done sleeping, she was simply done. She hadn't slept long this time, so she was either wet or hungry. There would be a need to which they needed to attend. Daryl reached and switched on the overhead light.

They had been lucky that Carol had hoarded baby things like a squirrel. There were still items in the back of the truck. There were items stuck behind the seats and under the seats. Daryl wouldn't have been surprised to pull down the sun visor and have a half a dozen, neatly-folded cloth diapers drop into his lap.

And he was completely thankful that Carol had hoarded everything they'd found on the highway in the way that she had because, for at least a moment, they didn't have to worry about Sophia's needs.

"The best thing we can do," Daryl said. "Is start focusin' on buildin' a damn life somewhere. The first things we need are the things we've needed since we started. They're what we've been after on every run. We need food. We need water. And we're gonna need some shelter that keeps us from spendin' the rest of our damned lives in cars."

"What we needed," Carol said, "was the farm. But—it's gone, Daryl."

"And it weren't the only damned farm in the world," Daryl said. "Hell—I was sold on stayin' on that farm forever. Hershel was all warmed up to the idea of watchin' Sophia grow up. Way he was talkin' about it, I figured by the winter he'd be ready for me to bring it up about getting a little piece of that land to put a house on. Nothing too big or too fancy, of course. I ain't no master carpenter, but Hershel can build pretty well. Just somethin' to live in. Have room for Sophia—maybe a couple more if…if we needed the space. I was as sold on that farm as anybody else. But all the hell it means now is that we know what kinda life we like. We know what kinda possibilities there are. We don't need Washington and we don't need a city."

"We just need a little farm," Carol said.

"Grow some vegetables," Daryl said. "Fruit trees. Raise livestock. Somewhere that's got some wells—they all over around here."

"And then it all gets taken away again," Carol said. "You can—turn the light off."

"What?" Daryl asked.

"The light," Carol said. "Sophia's clean. You can turn the light off. I've got wipes for now but—I'll have to wash her diapers and I didn't put more clothes in here…"

"We'll find something," Daryl said. "Where we can wash clothes an' look for more stuff."

"And lose it all again," Carol said. "Daryl—it feels so hopeless. All of it. The farm? All of it's gone now."

"So, we build better fences," Daryl said. "We build walls."

"You're not worried you're being overly optimistic?" Carol asked. "Daryl—what if this is as good as it gets? What if there's no future beyond hopping from place to place?"

Daryl laughed to himself as a wave of nervousness flowed through him. He helped himself to another cigarette and focused on the taillights in front of him. When he was finally ready to speak again, he did.

"I ain't never been this—focused on the future before in my life," Daryl said. "We might be hoppin' from place to place for a while, but that's just while we're lookin' for what we need. We find it and we're there for good. We'll make it better than the farm was."

Carol sat quietly and played with Sophia. She'd found, in her items, what appeared to be a plastic doughnut and Sophia seemed to enjoy alternating between biting it and trying to convince Carol to bite it. Daryl sat for a moment and simply listened to Sophia's happy babble.

"Mighta lost the whole damn farm," Daryl said. "Lost—people we cared about. But we ain't lost everything. There's a future."

"Daryl?" Carol said quietly. He hummed at her. "Were you—really going to ask Hershel if you could…have some of his land to build a house?"

"Yeah," Daryl admitted. He hadn't exactly meant to say that, because he hadn't talked to anyone but the rabbits about it while he'd been hauling them around looking for more to add to his sack, but he'd said it and he wasn't going back on it.

"A house for—you, and me, and Sophia?" Carol asked. Daryl hummed again.

"You pissed I was thinkin' that?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"No," she said. "No. I'm not pissed at all."


	50. Chapter 50

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here!**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Hershel was able to get them several more miles away from the farm than he'd anticipated he would be able to take them. He could have taken them further, but he chose the point where he thought it was best to stop. They followed him as he pulled off the road at a farmhouse that, though it wasn't anywhere near as impressive as his farm had been, would be enough to shelter them while they slept, got something to eat, and took the opportunity to regroup.

"Stay in the truck a minute," Daryl said as he got out. "Just in case it ain't clear."

Carol didn't argue and it was pretty clear that he hadn't been the only one to issue the request. Hershel, Glenn, Rick, and T-Dog joined him on the grass outside the little farmhouse.

"We oughta keep going," Rick said.

"To where, exactly?" Daryl asked. Rick stared at him. "Exactly, Rick. We got nowhere to go right now. We'll move on tomorrow, like we usually do. But for now—we oughta stop here."

"It's not even dark," Rick pointed out. "It's the middle of the day."

"We need water," Hershel said. "Food. Baths. Rest. Whether or not you think we need it? We need time to mourn our dead."

"We need time to mourn everything we lost," Daryl said. "And the light makes it easier to make sure the place is clean. Gives me some chance at gettin' us somethin' to eat that don't come out a can."

"I knew the people who lived here," Hershel said. "The house has been empty since the first signs of the outbreak. They died pretty early on."

"And you cleared 'em out or they still in there?" Daryl asked.

"They were removed by the authorities," Hershel said.

"So, you're really talking about the beginning of this whole thing," Daryl offered.

"They were some of the first around here that we heard about," Hershel said. "I knew them from church. They would have gladly given us shelter."

"And we'll gladly take it," Daryl offered. "If it's all the same, I'd rather we checked the house first, though. Just to make sure that it's really completely empty."

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Daryl was pleased with the deer that he got. He normally preferred to kill bucks and let does go on to live their lives, but he'd been hunting for anything that stumbled into his line of sight. The doe would feed them and it would sit nicely in their bellies with everything they'd found in the cupboards.

People were upset, tired, and hungry. Daryl couldn't take anyone's feelings of loss, anger, or fear, but he could fill their bellies. At least they could grieve on a full stomach.

As he cleaned and butchered the deer, he wondered what became of Andrea. Her loss made his stomach ache in an uncomfortably familiar way. He preferred the loss of Patricia over the loss of Andrea. They had seen her bitten—torn apart. They knew she was dead. It was horrible, and it was tragic, but the book was closed. Patricia had lived and, in the short amount of time that Daryl had known her, she had been a good person to know. Then, she had died. The same could be said for Jimmy. He'd been just a kid, but he was gone now. They knew that.

Andrea's loss, though, stirred up everything inside him.

She was simply gone. There was no body. There had been no one present to see her die. She was just there, and then she was gone. They would never see her again. The book would never be closed.

Without the opportunity to have some guarantees and to experience true closure, Daryl could always sort of pretend that she wasn't really dead. He could somewhat imagine that she might have escaped mortality in some way. Rather than being comforting, though, it simply left him with the gnawing feeling in his gut that he'd felt before, in his life, when people had simply been there and been gone—and he'd just had to take someone's word for it that they were no longer in the world or else he'd simply been confronted by their absence.

Daryl preferred death—absolute, complete, and witnessed—to uncertainty.

And he much preferred life to death.

"How long do you think it's going to take on the deer?" Rick asked, approaching.

"How's the fire comin'?" Daryl asked.

The house was clean. It would put a roof over their heads and it would put walls around them to keep them safe during the night as long as a herd didn't come through. It had a well with a pump out back. They could clear the house out to replace some of the supplies that they had lost at the farm. It was good for a night, and maybe even two nights if they wanted to stretch things. It certainly wasn't Hershel's farm, though, and they were back to bathing with water heated over the fire that they would also cook over.

"Burning," Rick said. "Pump's in good working order. Hershel has everyone filling up any jugs and anything we can find to take with us."

"Good idea," Daryl said. "Gonna take me at least another hour on this deer. Gettin' it cut up as fast as I can with what the hell I got."

"Lori's pregnant," Rick said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Tell me somethin' I don't know. Is that gonna affect the outcome with this deer in some way?" Daryl asked.

"Can I just—talk to you?" Rick asked.

"This one of them heart-to-hearts I heard so much about?" Daryl asked. Rick frowned at him. The deer wasn't going anywhere, and neither was Daryl. Rick had him as a captive audience. "Go ahead."

"She's not talking to me," Rick said. "After what happened with Shane."

"You mean…?" Daryl started. He stopped because he didn't exactly want to knock off any scabs that might be forming over wounds he knew had to be there.

"I killed Shane. Carl put him down," Rick said.

"It's what the hell I been tryin' to do for a few days," Daryl said, as much to himself as to Rick. "But I suppose my reasoning was a hell of a lot different than yours."

"I killed him because he was dangerous," Rick said.

"He's been dangerous," Daryl said.

"He had gone crazy," Rick said.

"Been done that, too," Daryl pointed out.

"I killed him because he was a threat and he tried to kill me," Rick said. "It was self-defense."

"I'm sure all that was your motivation for what you done," Daryl said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rick asked.

"Hell if I really know," Daryl admitted. "Listen—I'm sure you had your reasons to kill fuckin' Shane. I'm sure we gonna at least pretend that it don't have shit to do with Lori. I get it. I had a reason to kill Shane and the only damn reason I wanted the asshole dead was Carol. I mean—I wanted him dead so he didn't bother nobody else, but Carol was my main concern. If he'da got after her again, I'da had to kill him. And if he'da gone after Sophia to go after Carol? I'da gutted him like this damned deer right here. So, I ain't crawlin' your ass about killin' him. I'm glad you saved me the effort. But you might as well tell the damn truth about why you done it."

"I killed him because he was a threat," Rick said.

"Yeah—well, it ain't the whole truth," Daryl said. "But it'll do for now."

"Lori isn't speaking to me," Rick said.

Daryl snorted.

"Just when you think you're at your lowest point, miracles happen," Daryl said.

"Daryl…"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Look—I appreciate whatever the fuck this is. The whole—comradery thing, but I don't know what the hell you want from me. When I needed you on my side, Rick? You were on Shane's side."

"I wasn't on Shane's side," Rick said. "I was on the side of whoever was right in the situation. I needed time to consider things. You can't make snap judgements."

"You gotta make snap judgments," Daryl said. "That's how the hell we stay alive. If I'da sat and contemplated the pros and cons of killing this doe, the possible impact on the future population of the area, and some possible moral dilemmas over whether or not I had the right to decide she dies for us to live? We'da been eatin' nothin' but shit outta cans tonight because she'da been gone by the time I finished going in circles. At the end of the day, you didn't believe Carol because Lori didn't want you to believe Carol."

"I didn't not believe her, either," Rick said. "I just needed more time."

"And then the asshole tried to kill you," Daryl said. "Right? Fuck, Rick—how long did you think about it before you handcuffed my fuckin' brother to a roof? How long did you weigh everything out before you left him for fuckin' dead so he didn't have no choice but to saw his damned hand off with a hacksaw and go wanderin' alone through the streets of Atlanta?"

"Merle was a threat to the whole group," Rick said.

"And so was Shane," Daryl offered.

"Merle was violent," Rick said. "He would have gone after anyone."

"And it was OK as long as it was Shane and he was just goin' after Carol," Daryl challenged.

"I didn't ask to be put in a position to make these decisions," Rick said.

"No, you didn't ask nothin'," Daryl said. "You just put yourself in that position."

"You want to be the leader?" Rick asked.

"You say that like you about to say that you don't care. That you'd be happy if someone lifted this burden off your shoulders or some shit like that. But you and me both know it ain't true, Rick, so don't even bother sayin' it. You like bein' in charge so damned much that you nearly pushed Hershel outta his own damn house. If the Walkers hadn't took it, the Grimes family would have, right?"

"I thought we could work together, Daryl," Rick said.

"I'm not working against you," Daryl offered. "Just because you don't like the truth? That doesn't mean that I'm doing you some injustice by telling it."

"There aren't that many of us left," Rick said. "We need to work together. Lori is mad at me about Shane. I don't think Hershel blames me personally but…he's mad about the farm. About the lives that were lost. I didn't have anything to do with the herd."

"Look—I'm sure that one day I'ma enjoy these heart-to-heart talks or whatever kinda bonding we're supposed to do be doing here," Daryl said. "But right now? I'm still pissed off. And I gotta have some time to be fuckin' pissed off, Rick."

"Fine," Rick said. "I just—wanted to say that it would mean a lot to me if everyone were to help support Lori right now. She's pregnant and—it isn't easy. And she won't let me get too close at the moment."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Yeah, and it woulda meant a lot to Carol if anybody had been supportin' her ass back at the rock quarry when all she got was shit about Sophia crying," Daryl said. "And it woulda meant a lot to her if you'da supported her ass when Shane turned her black and blue and got away with that shit. But I'ma break my back bendin' over to support Lori."

"I understand that you're angry, Daryl," Rick said. "And I'm going to give you time to…to deal with that. And I hope that we're able to get past it."

"We gonna get past it, but it ain't gonna be tonight," Daryl said. "Tomorrow's not lookin' real good, either."

"Don't let your feelings for me get in the way of you helping Lori," Rick said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Don't worry, it's primarily my feelings for Lori that get in the way of me wantin' to do shit for her," Daryl said. "She made this bed, Rick. Same as anybody else. Now she's gotta lie in it."

"She's pregnant," Rick said. "And Carl's a growing child."

"And Sophia's a growin' baby," Daryl said. "And Carol's been puttin' out milk for her and you know as I good as I do that it's gotta come from somewhere. I'm sorry, man. You come to me lookin' for—sympathy or whatever the hell you're needin' right now? Absolution or some shit? I'm fresh out. Now—I'ma finish butcherin' this deer and then I'ma take it over for Carol to cook up. And everybody's gonna eat—yours, mine, and ours. I'm not an asshole. I might not bend over backwards for your wife an' kid, but I won't treat 'em bad. Not like you done…"

Daryl stopped short. He stopped the split second before the word left his mouth. His blood ran a little cold in his veins when he realized how close he came to saying it and how much he really meant it. A second longer and it would have escaped.

Mine.

But Carol and Sophia weren't his.

"Not like you done…Carol and Sophia," Daryl said. "I'ma be fuckin' angry until I'm not. But—I'm not an asshole like Shane woulda had you think I am."

Rick stood there a moment in silence. Finally, though, he seemed to accept what Daryl had said. Maybe he accepted that there was no way to change Daryl's mind and the offer to feed his family and to be as civil as possible until he'd had a chance to cool down and let his anger pass was as good of an offer as he was going to get.

"Thanks," was all Rick offered before he simply turned and walked away.

Daryl watched him go, and then he returned to his work with the deer.


	51. Chapter 51

**AN: Here we are, another chapter.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol shook Daryl gently when the sounds he was making in his sleep went from being muffled mumbles to louder complaints. Though she could understand nothing of the words that his unconscious self was clearly trying to say, she could understand that whatever was prompting them was not pleasant for Daryl.

He awoke with a start and Carol immediately pressed her hand against his shoulder to soothe him a little.

"The fuck happened?" He asked, looking around.

The farmhouse was not as large as Hershel's, but there were enough rooms to allow for some privacy. Daryl and Carol had easily gotten a room for themselves because of the fact that Sophia's sleeping schedule wasn't appreciated by most people who wanted a full night of uninterrupted sleep. For the time being, Sophia slept peacefully on a pallet on the floor that they'd made with the cushion out of a small two-seater couch they'd found on the closed-in back porch.

Carol had only recently put Sophia back down to sleep since the last time the baby had her up. It was during the time that she'd been tending to Sophia that she'd noticed that Daryl was struggling with something in his sleep. She had waited, with the lamp burning, to see how badly things would escalate and whether or not she might need to wake him.

"Nothing happened," Carol said softly. "We're all fine. We're in a farmhouse, remember? Someone Hershel used to know lived here."

Daryl's breathing was heavy, but it was slowing down. His feelings from whatever he'd been dreaming were clearly a little residual.

"Sophia…" Daryl said.

"Shhhh," Carol crooned at him. She moved closer to him to wrap herself around him and comfort him physically. "She's fine. She's sleeping. She was just having a snack not long before I woke you. What were you dreaming about?"

"What?" Daryl asked, still somewhat looking around the room with a general air of sleepiness.

"Your dream or—nightmare from the sound of it," Carol said. "What was it? Do you want to talk about it?"

She reached over and offered Daryl one of the bottles of water from the nightstand on her side of the bed. He mumbled a thanks as he took the bottle. He drank down about half of it before he returned it to her so that she could put it back. Then he ran his fingers through his hair.

"It was Andrea," Daryl said. "I mean—it was all of us, but it was…Andrea."

Daryl got out of the bed. He didn't bother looking for his underwear or his pants or anything else to put on. Sophia was too young to know what she saw if she woke and it wasn't as though he and Carol hadn't practically put each other to sleep with a long and lazy time spent with their bodies locked together. She wasn't offended in the slightest by his naked form—just as he wasn't insisting that she put anything on or cover herself with the blankets.

Daryl did find his cigarettes and lighter, and he stood by the open window and looked out at the darkness.

"We was back at the farm," Daryl said.

"All of us?" Carol asked.

"You, me, Sophia, Andrea," Daryl counted off. "Fuck if I know if anybody else was there, but they didn't matter. We ain't had no car. Nothin'. Everything around us was on fire. I mean it was the farm 'cause I just knew—you know? I knew that's where we were, but there weren't no reason for me to think it was the farm. The Walkers were fuckin' everywhere. And I had Sophia an' you—we were runnin' from 'em. And—you said you got a clear path so I was gonna give you Soph. I was gonna give you Soph an' you an' Soph was gonna go. I was gonna save Andrea."

Carol got up from her place on the bed and walked over to where Daryl was smoking. She pressed her body against him from behind to offer him some comfort that his tone of voice told her he needed. She kissed his back and he shivered at the sensation of her lips touching angry scars, but he didn't ask her to stop. Carol felt his muscles relaxing a little beneath the embrace.

"It was a dream," Carol said. "You got me and Sophia off the farm, remember?"

"In the dream you took Sophia and when I turned around? You were just—gone. I didn't know if you got away or got—got sucked up in the fire. But you were supposed to go so I could get Andrea. She was overrun and I was gonna get her. Had my hand on her. Had her hand. Pullin' her."

Carol kissed his back when she felt the muscles tense again, and she ran her fingers over his chest.

"It was just a dream," she offered.

"I couldn't help her 'cause—suddenly she was just gone. Her hand was in mine and then she was just gone. Not there anymore. It was just me and Walkers and everybody was gone. I didn't know if she got eat up by the Walkers or—if she got burned up to nothin' and I just remembered holdin' her hand. Lookin' for every damn body that was gone."

"It wasn't you who let Andrea down," Carol offered. "It was me."

"It was fuckin' all of us," Daryl offered. "The worst fuckin' part is the just—bein' gone."

"Losing people is hard," Carol agreed.

Daryl turned, lifting his arm, so that Carol would be against his chest and not his back. She understood what he was trying to do, so she turned with him.

"It's not the losin' that I'm talking about," Daryl said, dropping the hand not holding his cigarette over Carol's back and gently trailing his fingers over her skin. "I mean—hell, yeah, the losin' is hard and all, and it makes for some long damn nights, but that's not the hardest part. At least not for me. We got any of that whiskey left?"

Carol laughed to herself.

The person who had owned the house had an extensive liquor cabinet. Without asking anyone if they cared, Daryl had confiscated a full bottle of whiskey and some small tumblers out of the kitchen. The entire collection of items sat on the dresser. Carol had drunk barely a finger of whiskey from one of the glasses and Daryl hadn't had much more than that.

"Like—a whole bottle," Carol offered.

"I could really use a fuckin' drink right now," Daryl said.

Though he wasn't directly asking her to serve him, Carol let go of him and did just that. She poured more into the tumbler than she imagined he would want, and she poured another finger of the brown liquid for herself. She brought it to him and he thanked her before he tasted it, swallowing down a decent amount.

"If it's not losing people that's the worst part," Carol said, "then I'm not sure I know what the worst part is…"

"Fuckin'—they just gone," Daryl said. He used the cigarette he was smoking, having nearly sucked it down to nothing, to light another before he snubbed it out in the bowl on the windowsill he was using as an ashtray. "I ain't told you everything about my life."

"You haven't told me much at all," Carol said, leaning against the wall so she could face him. "But I'd love to know more about you, Daryl."

"There ain't too damn much that makes a decent bedtime story," he offered.

"I know about your…old man," Carol offered, catching herself before she accidentally used the word "daddy" as a knee-jerk way of referring to Daryl's father.

"You don't know that he died in an accident," Daryl said. "Burned mostly up. Had us identify him by a scar he had right here. From losin' his kidney when he was younger. Weren't much left of him so they was like you don't wanna see what the hell is left. You ain't gonna hardly know what it is no way. We took their word for it. Weren't like I gave a shit, you know? Weren't like I was gonna fuckin' miss him. Nobody on the whole damn Earth missed his sorry ass."

"It's OK if you did—not miss him, but…it's OK if it made you sad," Carol said. "Upset. Even if you were just missing what you wished he was."

Daryl laughed to himself. He drank down another relatively large swallow of the whiskey and Carol made up her mind right then and there that she'd let him have as much as he wanted—and she'd drive the next day if they decided to move on while he napped. She wasn't going to even suggest that he not look for whatever comfort he was searching for at the moment.

"That's about all the hell I mighta done," Daryl offered. "Damnedest thing was that he was always such a damned asshole. A fuckin' dark cloud in my life. Then he was just gone. Nothin'."

"I'm sure that was hard," Carol offered.

He hummed to himself.

"My Ma was gone before him," Daryl said. He laughed to himself. "She burned herself up. House fire. Whole place was gone and there weren't nothin' left of her except—shit that don't burn too good. Only difference was I missed her."

"You loved her," Carol offered.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"She was my Ma," Daryl said. "And she was soft-like. You know? Hell—she kept him off of us with every damn thing she had. I didn't know how damn much she done until she weren't there no more. She was just gone. There that mornin' and then…gone."

Carol swallowed down repeatedly against the ache in her throat. She stepped forward and wrapped herself around him again. She could still sip her whiskey, and he could still drink and smoke, but at least she could be close to him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"My whole sorry fuckin' life up in flames," Daryl said. He laughed to himself and Carol heard as he swallowed. "That's what they call a metaphor, isn't it? My whole damn life just burnin' down to—ashes. But the worst part was the bein' there an' then not bein' there. Like you don't see 'em go. They just gone. Like I saw 'em and then I never saw 'em again. It was like they never even happened. Like I made it all up. Made them up. Maybe made up that they was dead."

Carol squeezed him in a hug and then backed away from him enough to take the glass and pour some more whiskey into it. He thanked her when she handed it back to him.

"You never got closure," Carol said. He hummed at her.

"Then I fuckin' lost Merle," Daryl said. "He was a sonofabitch, and I know that don't nobody miss Merle…"

"But he was your brother," Carol said.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"And Jacqui blew herself up at the CDC and now Andrea's just…gone," Daryl said.

"It's understandable, Daryl, that what happened to Andrea has stirred up a lot of feelings in you," Carol said.

"You a shrink now?" Daryl asked with a laugh.

"No," Carol said. "But—you cared for her. And she cared for you. She's gone, and we don't know if she's alive or dead…"

"She's fuckin' dead," Daryl said. "They all are. I could go on pretendin' that they alive 'cause my brain don't know for sure they dead, but they're all dead. Worst damn part about that fuckin' dream was that I thought you and Soph were gone, too. Just—gone."

Carol smiled at him. She shook her head.

"No," she crooned softly. "No. We're not gone. And we're not going anywhere. We're not..we won't leave you, Daryl. Not if I have any control over it. Not if you—if you don't want us to."

Daryl looked at her a long moment and then he looked into the glass at the brown liquid. He swished it around before he took a swallow into his mouth and held it. Then he swallowed it down slowly.

"I almost called you an' Sophia 'mine' today when I was talkin' to Rick. He was talkin' about Lori and Carl and—how Lori's pregnant. I told him I wouldn't treat his wife and kids bad; you know? I told him…I wouldn't treat 'em like he treated…but then I stopped. Before I said the word, but I almost said it."

His words hit Carol hard in the chest. Her heart responded by pounding against her sternum. Her stomach churned a little at the thought.

"You almost called me and Sophia your—wife and child?" Carol asked.

Daryl frowned dramatically at the contents of his glass.

"Not—maybe not. Not that I was thinking about it all that clear. Just—just mine. That's how I was mostly thinking about it. I almost called you mine. I didn't," he said. "Because it weren't true."

"Because you don't want it to be true?" Carol asked.

"Because it ain't true," Daryl said.

"But—would you want it to be true?" Carol asked.

"It ain't," Daryl said. "Don't matter what I want, really."

Carol laughed to herself. He'd had quite a bit of whiskey in the passing moments and, perhaps, it was going to his head just a little. He snubbed out the cigarette but made no move to go back to bed. She imagined he would continue smoking and drinking for a little while longer. She stepped forward and reached a hand up to touch his cheek.

"Daryl—I could be yours, if you wanted," Carol offered.

Daryl looked at her and furrowed his brow.

"You would want that?" He asked. "To be like—my woman?"

"I thought I was," Carol said. "Maybe. With everything. Until—you're letting me know that I'm not. You don't want that?"

Daryl touched her face in the same way she was touching his.

"I want it," Daryl said. "I want—you."

Carol smiled to herself, remember his words the first night that they'd been together.

"Then you have me," Carol said.

"You mean that?" Daryl asked.

"Daryl—I love you," Carol offered softly. "Of course, I mean that."

Daryl visibly swallowed. He shifted his weight.

"I love you, too," he said, his voice shaking just a bit.

"Sophia loves you, too," Carol said.

"But she won't never be mine," Daryl said.

"She already is, too," Carol said with a smile. "Maybe—you haven't realized it yet, and maybe…we haven't put a name to it, but, Daryl? She loves you and she doesn't know that you're not her Daddy."

Daryl dropped his hand and backed up half a step like he was staggered.

"Daddy?" He asked.

Carol immediately felt a little panicked. She'd said too much.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You don't want…"

"No," Daryl said. "I mean—yes. I mean—fuck. I wanna be her Daddy but…hell it's a hell of a thing to think I'm somebody's old man. I don't got what the hell it takes to be an old man."

"You might not have what it takes to be an old man," Carol said. "But, Daryl, you've been a Daddy from the moment that you put your life on the line to save Sophia from an infection. Maybe even before that."

"Ed's her old man, though," Daryl said.

"He was," Carol said. "But he's dead, and she never really knew him. You're her Daddy, and she loves you—if you want to be."

Daryl frowned and immediately brought his thumb to his mouth to bother it for a moment. He shook his head.

"I'm not good enough for all that," he said.

"You're plenty good for everything," Carol said. "Everything and—anything you want. You're as good as anyone else. Better."

Carol brought his thumb away from his mouth with her hands and he came forward and kissed her quickly and hard.

"I love you," he breathed out when the kiss broke. "I love you. I love you," he repeated like he couldn't stop the words once they'd started coming. "I love you and I love Sophia."

"And we love you," Carol offered. "So—if you want to tell Rick that—that we're yours? You can do that, Daryl. We wouldn't have it any other way."

"You really mean that?" Daryl asked.

"I could ask you the same thing," Carol offered. "If you were really sure that…you wanted me. Sophia. We're a lot of trouble. Far more than we're worth."

"There's some stuff you don't know about me," Daryl said.

"I want to know it all," Carol breathed out. "But it won't change anything."

"It might," Daryl said.

"It won't," Carol assured him.

"I can be honest about my family but—I don't like when nobody else talks about 'em," Daryl said. "Especially if they tellin' lies."

"OK," Carol said.

Daryl smiled at her, the corner of his mouth barely turning upward.

"So, you better stop sayin' that you both more trouble than you worth," Daryl said. "Because I don't like it."

Carol laughed, realizing that he was teasing her. She was happy to hear it. She was also happy for the lightheadedness that came from the combination of the small amount of whiskey she'd drank and the declarations that had taken place in the lamplit room.

"Daryl," Carol said. He hummed at her. "I think—it's time you took me to bed. Claimed what's yours—and I'm right here."


	52. Chapter 52

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"I don't give a shit where we go," Daryl said, shoving a piece of the deer steak into his mouth. They had very little in the way of food if they didn't go look for something. The farmhouse offered up some canned goods, but not enough to keep them going for long. At least, though, they did have meat to eat. Daryl would keep them from starving if he had to hunt with all his free time.

They were staying at least one night more in the farmhouse. That meant that they had one day to decide where they were going from here or else they were going to be left doing nothing more than wandering without a plan.

Of course, Carol wasn't sure that they wouldn't simply end up wandering aimlessly because, even if they knew where they wanted to go, they might simply find out that they couldn't get there.

"But I do mean it that we ain't goin' to Washington," he added.

"If you don't care where we go, then you shouldn't care if we go to Washington," Rick pointed out.

Daryl didn't bother to even swallow down his food before he spoke.

"I care that we don't go to Washington—or any other fucking big ass city—because it's gonna be crawling with Walkers. And not just that, but we're probably gonna hit Walkers like a wall on our way there 'cause they'll be just wandering around outside the city tryin' to find somethin' to eat."

"We need to find people," Rick said. "Reestablish civilization."

Daryl laughed.

"Look the fuck around you, man," Daryl said. "Civilization is dead. This world? It don't belong to the civilized no more. It belongs to the dead, to them that's on their way to becoming the dead, and to the rest of us who are able to somehow keep goin'. We keep goin' too long, though, an' there ain't gonna be nothin' civilized about none of us."

"That's why we need to find somewhere soon," Rick said. "Before we go too far."

"You killed somebody," Daryl said. "Chained my fuckin' brother to a roof so he cut off his own damn hand with a hacksaw to save his own life. We've lost our friends and family. We've kept people chained up in barns like animals. I'd be real damn interested in knowin' exactly what it is you consider to be too far. I mean—I'd say we gone pretty damn far. Unless you just like waitin' on us to start eatin' one other or somethin'."

"People will go to cities looking for help," Rick said. "They'll go looking for safety."

"And—in the beginning—they'da found the government droppin' napalm or some shit on 'em to kill 'em off. And now? They'll find the reanimated corpses of all the people the government killed waitin' to tear 'em to bits. What exactly do you think's gonna happen, Rick? You think we gonna walk into some kinda Eden? Like they gonna be just sittin' there with some damn tea and crumpets like—we was waitin' on you to get here an' you ain't gonna be kept up at night with the thought of people you care about gettin' ripped to shreds or burned up by outta control fires."

"We're all going to have a lot to overcome, but Rick's right. We do need to look for other people. We need to find civilization," Lori offered.

"Daryl's right," Carol threw in. "Cities are dangerous. We saw what happened to Atlanta. We saw what happened to the CDC. We know that there's not some promised land that's waiting on us. Maybe we build something. Maybe we bring back some sort of civilization, but Daryl's right—we're not going to find it in Washington."

"And we ain't likely to find it ready-made, neither," Daryl said.

"Is there more?" Lori asked when Carol sat down with her plate.

There would be more later. The rest of the meat had gone into several pots and was simmering with canned goods to stretch it all as far as possible. Later there would be stew. For now, though, there was nothing more left. Carol had served everyone, and then she'd sat with the remainder of the meat—hardly enough to call a helping. She looked at it, considered telling Lori that there simply wasn't enough for her to have seconds, and then thought better of it.

Lori was expecting—something Rick hadn't let them forget since he'd said it at least a thousand times since the sun had come up—and she needed special consideration to keep her going and to keep the baby she was carrying strong. Carol was sure that being on the road would be difficult for Lori.

Carol smiled at her. She offered her the plate.

"I was just—bringing what was left," Carol said. "For you. For—the baby."

Lori smiled at her, thanked her, and took the plate.

Carol tried to pretend that she couldn't feel Daryl's eyes burning into the side of her face. She flicked her eyes in his direction. He sat there, slowly chewing through the mouthful of food that he'd put into his mouth, and stared at her. Finally, when she didn't make full eye contact with him, he leaned toward her.

"You ain't eat a mouthful yet," he offered.

"I had some while I was cutting it up," Carol said. "While I was—getting the stew ready."

"You a lie," Daryl offered. "You ain't eat a single bite."

"If you haven't eaten…" Lori offered, going wide-eyed, as she offered the plate back in Carol's direction.

"I've been grazing," Carol said. "Picking bits and pieces here and there while I—while I got everyone's plates. While I got the stew ready. Really—the baby…you need it."

"Sophia's gotta have milk," Daryl pointed out. "A lot of it. There ain't even baby food to last hardly no time. And I know that'cha don't make milk with magic."

Carol felt her face burn warm.

"Daryl…please," she breathed out.

"No," Daryl said bluntly. He shoved his plate in front of her. "Here. I done eat more'n half of it. You eat the rest, then."

"You need to eat," Carol said.

"I done ate," Daryl said.

"You have to keep your strength up because…you're going to have to go hunting again," Carol said. "Or we don't eat tomorrow when the stew runs out."

"And you gotta feed yourself so you can keep your strength up an' feed Sophia!" Daryl barked.

Carol's heart pounded in her chest. She wasn't afraid of Daryl. That wasn't what caused the sensation of finding it difficult to breathe. She knew that he wasn't going to hurt her. In fact, this was the opposite of desiring to hurt her. Maybe it was just that he was being especially loud that made her heart pound. Maybe it was because Carol could hear something in his voice—something that wasn't anger at all, not real anger. She could hear fear in Daryl's voice—fear that he'd learned to disguise as anger. Her body seemed to naturally react with fear when Daryl was afraid.

And, for some reason, at that moment, Daryl had suddenly become so terrified that it was making him furious.

He pushed the plate toward Carol again, and she reached for it. She was aware, as she took it, that her hands shook slightly.

"If I may…" Hershel said, clearing his throat.

He drew the attention of everyone. He and his family had been sitting mostly quietly during the discussion about where they would go when they left the farmhouse. With the strong personalities of Rick and Daryl, there was relatively little room left for anyone else to bother with giving their opinions. The two men seemed to need to butt heads and lock horns for a moment. There was clearly a struggle taking place beyond the one that circled around their future destination.

"You may not," Rick said quickly. "Listen—this is ridiculous. All of it! We're not getting anywhere if we just sit around bickering about where to go and what to do. I'm the leader of this group. I've gotten us this far. As the leader, I can't let us waste all our time and resources going back and forth about where we're going. The best thing for us is to go where we'll find more people and we'll have more hope of finding a sustainable life. We've got to think about the future. I have to think about my son. My wife. Lori's pregnant and that may mean that we have to make some sacrifices...but it's important to think about what those sacrifices mean for the future. What new life means for the future."

"You weren't too damned worried about that future when you was bitchin' about Sophia bein' a baby an' cryin'," Daryl barked. He hit his feet.

"That's why we need to find some place before the baby comes," Rick said. "Babies are wonderful. They're the future. They are dangerous, though, on the road. And that's why I can't let you or anybody else keep us wandering around forever. We've got to head for Washington."

"Some people have known forever that the key to surviving if things went bad—really bad—was to avoid populated areas," Hershel said. "That's why I built my farm the way that I did. That's why I worked so hard to make it self-sustaining."

"Look—I'm sorry, Hershel," Rick said, "but you see what good that did you? You see what good it did any of us? The farm is gone and we're back on the road."

Hershel laughed.

"I'm going to allow you to check your tone with me, Rick," Hershel said. "I may have worked to turn my life around. I may have chosen to dedicate my life to God. And I may be an old man, but it might do you some good to remember that I didn't get to be an old man by being stupid…or weak. Especially since I haven't always been cautious."

"Are you threatening me?" Rick asked.

"I think what he's doin' is suggestin' that you don't threaten him," Daryl said. "An' maybe—just a lil' bit—that'cha don't piss him off. We can't prove that it wasn't our asses that cost him that farm, Rick. And even you gotta admit that they was pretty set to keep on livin' out there until it got overrun."

"We didn't cause a herd," Rick said. He sighed. "Listen—I just want us to have a plan. We need to find a safe place and we need to find it soon. I don't want my wife giving birth in a ditch. And I don't want anything happening to my family because we spent too much time wandering around."

"I think that's somethin' we can agree on," Daryl said. Carol's heart had calmed down from his earlier outburst. She still hadn't eaten the meat, but she sat holding the plate that he'd given her. Now her heart picked up its speed again. She could feel it coming. Daryl was about to really make his first public declaration of their relationship, and Carol was overwhelmed to hear it. The night before he'd made love to her in a way that she hadn't even imagined possible before. There had been something passionate—but almost invigoratingly animalistic—about the way that he'd declared her to be "his" over and over again.

Carol wasn't a fan of feeling like a possession—or at least she never had been before. Ed had been fond of reminding her that she was his. Being his, however, had always been something bad.

With Daryl, it was different. The way that he declared her to be "his" made her feel much less like he considered her a possession and much more like he considered her a deity or something that he wished to worship as his own.

And now she was going to hear him say it to the rest of the group. She was going to hear that he wasn't ashamed of her. There would be no bitterness in his words. There would be no sound of disgust like that which she'd heard in Ed's voice in later years when he'd introduced her to others.

"I got my own woman," Daryl said. "My—my own kid that I gotta look out for. I'm sure Hershel can agree. He's got his daughters. Nobody wants to just piss away our lives walkin' in circles, but we don't wanna walk toward certain death neither. This ain't no dictatorship, Rick. And you ain't some leader that we've pledged our undyin' allegiance to. We're in this together. We bring somethin' to the table. All of us."

"They're right," Glenn offered. He'd been guarding his silence in the corner. "The cities—they're too dangerous. We couldn't have ever lived in Atlanta. It was get in and get out. If the government wasn't interested in saving Atlanta, they won't be interested in saving anywhere else, either."

"Then where the hell do you propose we go?" Rick asked. "Where the hell do all of you propose we go?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I think the first damn place we oughta go is some damn where we can find a map," Daryl said. "But what the fuck does a dumb ass like me know? Right?"


	53. Chapter 53

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I just want to let you know that it won't be exactly like the show (not that we saw too much during this era of the show) because we might not be spending quite as long on the road as they seemed to spend on television.**

 **I hope that you enjoy the chapter. Let me know what you think!**

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"Nothin' we're really lookin' for is gonna be on a map," Daryl mused. "Especially not this one."

They were in the parking lot outside of a gas station and convenience store. They'd cleaned the store out and put down the attendant who had been trapped there, as a Walker, for some time.

The rack of maps that they had to choose from had been limited, but it had provided one that satisfied Daryl enough to bring it outside, unfold it, and spread it out on the hood of the truck.

"It can't be on a map," Rick said. "Because we don't know what the hell we're looking for. I know you don't like the idea of Washington, but hear me out."

Daryl lit a cigarette. He'd been pleased with the fact that the convenience store had hardly been picked over at all. Carol hadn't said anything as he'd filled one of the large duffels in the back of their truck with every cigarette that the place had to offer. Of course, he'd also shoved in bags with every last thing he could grab from the baby aisle. And, when Lori had started to protest, he'd promised her that they'd probably find a second convenience store by the time her kid needed diapers and solid food, but Sophia was already in need.

"Fine—I'ma hear you out. Again. We all gonna hear you out, Rick. Why the hell should we up an' go to Washington to get eat?"

He waved his hands at Carol when Sophia started to fuss and she began to dance with her to stop her from making too much noise. Carol happily passed the fussing baby over and Sophia went eagerly enough to Daryl, though she didn't stop fussing. Daryl leaned down and rested her feet on top of his own feet, balancing her there, and she seemed satisfied. She bounced, testing out her knees like she normally did when she pulled up on things, and he held to her while she hopped and danced in place. He wouldn't dare to let go of her while they both stood with concrete all around them, because she couldn't possibly balance on his feet and she hadn't, yet, managed to take her first steps unassisted.

"If the government set up a place—a safe place—then they probably did it in Washington," Rick said. "We could argue that they might have set them up in various big cities, but Washington is somewhere we have a chance of reaching. If we're not looking for people, and if we're not looking for the chance to become part of society again, then I really don't know what it is that we're looking for."

"Survival," Daryl said. "Somewhere to survive. Long-term."

"And a place where we can build our own society," Hershel said. "Not even you believe there's really some great safe haven out there, Rick. You don't speak about it with the conviction of a man who believes what he's saying. I think—if I can speak for everyone here—that what we're looking for is something we know we can find. We're looking for a place where we can be safe and where we can provide for ourselves. For our future. We're looking for a place where we can build a future for the little ones we leave behind."

Rick went through a series of turns like he might pace around the parking lot. He looked up and down the abandoned road from which they'd come. He sighed and made a few noncommittal sounds that were neither in agreement with nor against what Hershel had said.

Finally, he sighed, placed his hands on his hips, and walked back to stand and stare at the map.

They had hashed and rehashed where they might consider going. Hershel had essentially summed up the hope of everyone there. Rick's grasping at Washington was nothing more than the desire to find some Oz that didn't exist, and even he knew that.

"We're going to find this place—this future for our children—on this map?" Rick asked.

Daryl laughed and scooped Sophia up. She fussed and squirmed against him, so he balanced her on one hip to buck against him while he finished up his cigarette with the other hand. He walked over where Rick was.

"We ain't gonna find shit on that map," Daryl said.

"Everybody has their heart set on staying in Georgia?" Rick asked.

"Good soil," Hershel offered. "Good climate means we can grow a variety of crops. There's an abundance of underground wells in the area, so that means we have a good chance of finding a steady source of clean water and we're likely to have an opportunity to build some sort of irrigation system when we're settled."

"Good game," Daryl said. "And farmland all over the damn place means we got a good chance of trapping livestock we can re-domesticate and use to our advantage."

"It's home," Glenn offered.

"Plus, if we go too far north, we're lookin' at the possibility of winters we don't know how to survive. We just don't know what the hell we doin' outside of our comfort zone," Daryl added.

"Well if it's not on the map, where do we go?" Rick asked. "I meant what I said—I don't want my child being born in a ditch."

"How do you feel about a barn?" Hershel asked. Rick gave him a look and Hershel laughed. "I'm kidding. Mostly. We were talking about it last night. Daryl and I."

"When?"

"When we were on watch for Walkers," Daryl said. "As much as you don't wanna wander around, it might be the best thing for a bit. We take this map as somethin' to build on. We mark it ourselves as we go. We keep some distance between us an' that herd we left at the farm. Give 'em time to break up. Go somewhere else. Start lookin' for places that's got what the hell we want."

"And I suppose you've already figured that out? What we want?" Rick asked.

"It's not rocket science," Glenn said. "I wasn't even part of the conversation and I know what we want. We want a place with enough room for everyone."

"And room to grow," Daryl said. "Let's not go thinkin' you an' Lori got a monopoly on havin' babies. If we build this place good enough, we could be buildin' up our numbers."

"Even finding a few other people," Hershel said, "assuming we're not the last men—and women—standing."

"So, places like office buildings," Glenn said. "Hospitals. Motels and hotels."

"Hospitals are out," Daryl said. "More'n likely overrun."

"Churches would have been places where people gathered," Hershel said. "It would be best to avoid them, or at least to approach them with caution."

"Motels would be safer than hotels," Rick offered. "It was always better for us if someone we were after ended up at a motel. The doors open to the outside. We could go in one room at a time. There's a lot less chance of getting trapped."

"Of course, there are farmhouses," Hershel said. "We can see if there's anything with a good foundation to rebuild what we had, but build it better. My farm didn't have fences on all sides. We would want to be surrounded by fences. We'd want them as strong as we could build them, too."

"What about a gated community?" Carol asked, introducing herself into the conversation. "You know—like the suburbs. There would be more than enough housing. There would be fences."

"We could reinforce 'em if they aren't strong enough," Daryl said, picking up with she'd begun. She nodded her agreement.

"It's as good a suggestion as anything else we've heard," Rick said.

"And the idea of having private homes sounds nice," Lori said.

"Already built, too," Daryl said. "Water and plumbing could be an issue, though."

"We'd check it out," Hershel said. "It may not be as difficult as we might think to find one that's got accessible wells."

"There's one bad thing about it," Daryl said, lighting himself another cigarette. Sophia had given up fighting him for the moment and, instead of fighting, she was playing a new game where she took the cigarette pack out of his pocket and then tried to put it back. It was entertaining enough that he let her do it, moving his lighter to the hood of the car so she wouldn't send it clattering off somewhere. "The places we gonna find a gated community is—well, it's suburbia. Close enough to towns to pick up whatever bunched up Walkers is left there."

"Maybe even the whole community is overrun," Glenn said, catching on quickly to the idea that Daryl was presenting.

"We could clear Walkers out," Carol said.

"That ain't no problem," Daryl said. "But settin' ourselves near a town—especially one that's been picked clean…"

"Means we have to go further and further out to look for supplies," Glenn said.

Daryl hummed.

"Not only that," Hershel said, "but even if we can find access for a well, we're limited in what we're doing for farmland. We'll be limited to small yards for planting and for figuring out how to house our livestock."

"And I'll have to go further out for the good hunting," Daryl said. "Even though there ain't people around, it's still gonna take time for Mother Nature to take back over what was hers."

"I guess I didn't think it through very well," Carol offered with a laugh.

"That's why we're suggesting that we spend a few days just gathering supplies. Staying a day or two in one place and marking the map with anything we see—anything that stands out as a possibility. That'll give us time to really consider all our options. I built that farm with my hands. My daddy and my granddaddy put their lives into that place and some of the area surrounding it. What we want to build? We won't build it overnight and it we won't build it without putting a little blood and sweat into it. We should be sure that we've chosen the right place and that it offers us what we need before we get too involved in trying to make a life there."

"Our time is limited," Rick offered.

"We'll have a place before the baby comes," Hershel said, dismissing Rick before he could get started.

Rick sighed and shook his head.

"It seems like you've already got it figured out," he said. There was a touch of bite in his tone. "You don't need me."

"We need everyone," Hershel said. "But more than that, we're going to need everyone working together."

There wasn't too much more discussion that needed to take place. It seemed decided. They would spend the next few weeks—or even months, as the case may be—doing something of a reconnaissance mission. They would figure out what they thought would best serve them, and then they would work together to turn whatever they decided on into the best possible home that any of them could imagine in the world they inhabited now.

Daryl returned Sophia to Carol's arms as they got into the truck, and Carol immediately opened a jar of baby food from the store and tore open a package of baby spoons that had been hanging in the aisle. Sophia knew, immediately, what it was and she panted at her mother and squealed out her absolute delight over the idea of another meal. She accepted the first mouthful before Carol even bothered to buckle her seatbelt, and Sophia clapped happily over the food.

"First damn kid I ever knowed to like carrots so much," Daryl said.

"This one has sweet potato, too," Carol said. "There's a lot of food here. Formula, too."

"What you need that for?" Daryl asked. "Don't you make her milk?"

"If the food gets too tight," Carol offered, not bothering to finish.

"The food don't never get so tight that you don't get enough to feed Sophia," Daryl said. "She ought to not have to eat that powdered shit unless that's what you want her to have. I'll get you some squirrels or somethin' if it's that lean. You just let me know."

Carol didn't say anything else on the subject. She didn't want to discuss that there would end up being a hierarchy of needs on the road—and she could already tell that. She didn't want to discuss that it wouldn't always be fair to assume that he could feed them. There would be times when it wouldn't be possible, and she didn't want him feeling guilty because he couldn't force woodland creatures to cross his path.

She didn't want to discuss any of it for the moment because she didn't want to upset Daryl. She wanted a pleasant ride, and she wanted Sophia to enjoy her carrots and sweet potatoes.

"You think we'll be able to build something like we want, Daryl?" Carol asked. "With walls, and water, and animals, and food?"

"I don't think it," Daryl said, "I know it. Hell—Hershel built that farm. You don't think he can do it again with help?"

"It almost seems like a dream," Carol said.

Daryl hummed in agreement. He gnawed at his cuticle and kept his eyes on T-Dog's vehicle in front of him.

"These days, I'm startin' to believe that dreams come true," Daryl said.

"You didn't always believe that?" Carol asked.

"No," Daryl said. "I been pessimistic most of my life."

Carol couldn't help but smile at how bluntly and nonchalantly he admitted such a thing.

"What's changed?" Carol asked.

Daryl glanced at her and smiled. He dropped one hand from the steering wheel and brushed some of the mess off Sophia's cheek from where she was wearing some of her meal. He stuck his finger in his mouth, sucking off the drop or two of baby food.

"Lately it seems like some of the—some of the biggest dreams I ever had are just…comin' true," Daryl said. "Just like that. Leaves me feelin' strangely optimistic about the future. I figure—I'ma hold onto it."

Carol smiled to herself. She felt a warmth spread through her. Daryl wasn't subtle, and she appreciated his sentiment.

"Are you holding onto the optimism, or your dreams?" Carol asked.

"Both," Daryl said. "I got everything that's most important already. And the best of it. I'ma hold onto that no matter what else we find or don't fuckin' find. That stuff, by the way, it don't taste too bad."

"I think Sophia agrees with you," Carol said.

"She's got good taste," Daryl teased. "Just like me."

Carol laughed at him.

"She does have good taste," she echoed. She decided to test the waters with Daryl. She decided to use the word that he'd been trying out on his tongue, but didn't seem entirely sure with just yet. It was as though he still didn't believe it. It was as though he still couldn't believe that Carol would support such a thing. She was sure, the more she said it, the more comfortable he would become with the new title. "Just like—her Daddy."

Daryl's face obviously flushed red. He reached for his cigarettes, and he lit one, rolling down the window immediately. He smoked the cigarette a second and tapped the fingers of his other hand on the steering wheel.

Finally, he spoke again. It was more of a musing than a step toward conversation, but Carol appreciated it just the same.

"Just like her Daddy," Daryl mused.


	54. Chapter 54

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"You ain't even a lil' bit tired," Daryl said.

"Da!" Sophia barked happily back at him. "Da! Da! Da!"

Sophia was clearly amused by the conversation she was having with Daryl and, honestly, he appeared to be enjoying it as much as the baby was. Carol was happy to see it. The time that Daryl spent with Sophia in the evening, talking to her and playing with her, gave Carol the opportunity to rest and catch her breath.

Carol didn't know how long it had been since they'd left the farm. It was useless to count the days. She knew that she saw certain changes in Sophia that marked the passing of time, and she knew that Lori was beginning to appear pregnant. Beyond that, she would have found it impossible to really give any specific span of time that had passed.

They were travelling, so they spent a great deal of time in the car, but they were also raiding everything they could, so it got them out of the vehicle from time to time and put them to work. They'd found a moving truck that they could get running, and Glenn happily drove the truck in their little caravan. As they raided places, they gathered things that were useful and packed the moving truck with all those things that might serve them later. When it was safe to risk a small fire, they ate warmed food. When it wasn't safe, they ate cold food out of cans.

Carol, somehow, seemed to end up being responsible for preparing any warmed food and for handing out many of the cans that got consumed when they were eating cold food.

When it was safe enough for a fire and an extra night at any location, they warmed water for laundry. Carol, as well, had noticed that she often ended up with laundry duty by herself.

It wasn't that Carol minded cooking, washing the dishes, or cleaning the clothes, but she couldn't help but notice that everyone always seemed to have something "more important" or more "urgent" to do when it was time to do the menial daily chores. She could easily excuse some of those that she knew were actually involved in activities that benefitted everyone—like Daryl who used all his spare moments to hunt down the food that would feed them at their next meal and to prepare it for her to cook and Hershel who made it his sole reasonability to dig a makeshift and short-term latrine at every stop they made—but there were some tasks that she felt were invented out of sheer desire to avoid less than desirable chores.

Nobody wanted to wash clothes, but they wanted to wear clean ones. Nobody wanted to cook, but they wanted to eat hot food. They didn't want to wash the dishes, either, but they wanted their food served out of clean bowls and with clean utensils.

And Lori, Carol had noticed, was always conveniently struck with a wave of morning sickness, extreme pregnancy-related fatigue, or a headache that rivalled the worst migraine imaginable whenever there was something that Carol might need her to do.

There was no need to complain, though. Everyone had their lot in life.

It simply meant that, by the time they started to settle for the night, Carol was exhausted. She valued the time that Daryl gave her to catch her breath and simply relax. It was nice to be able to sit back, relax, and trust that Sophia was safe and being cared for.

Sophia spent most of her day strapped to Carol's chest or back in a sling. When she was wrapped tight, she was fairly quiet and didn't fuss too much. She whined when she started to grow hungry or her diaper was soiled, but she usually gave Carol a bit of a warning before she launched into full-fledged screams. Carol had mastered nursing her while she was bundled. She tried to keep from releasing the baby from her bundle as much as possible.

Sophia had a taste for freedom. Carol couldn't blame her, of course. It wasn't fair to the baby that she had to spend her whole life bound up in a wrap against her mother's chest. The only time she was released from the wrap was to be changed—and that required a practical wrestling match between mother and daughter to get her back into place—or on the few occasions when it was safe for her to be free. Sophia's freedom could usually be bought by someone who wasn't busy and who was willing to hold her, or she could be released if Carol was confident that they were in an absolutely safe and protected location. Otherwise, Sophia remained next to Carol in the only way that Carol could keep track of her.

Nighttime was Sophia's favorite part of the day. She got a solid dinner and a bath if warm water and food she could tolerate was available. She got a sponge bath at the very least with enough milk to quell her hunger pains. As soon as she was dressed again, Daryl took over for Carol. He let Sophia crawl all over him. He followed her around whatever living space they'd claimed for the night and let her get all the exercise she wanted. He let her decide how she wanted to spend her time. He worked with her to balance on her feet and encouraged her to try to walk when she'd spent a little time standing and grasping his fingers in her little hands.

And he talked to her.

Carol talked to her, too, while she carried her around during the day. She tried to engage the babbling baby in conversation. She narrated everything she did and she spoke to Sophia as clearly as she could. Daryl did the same.

Carol feared that Sophia was behind where she really should be at her age, and she feared that she was slipping further and further behind every day. She didn't have the same opportunities to socialize as other children. Carl and Beth sometimes played with her. Hershel held her from time to time when she needed some release from Carol's binding captivity. Other than that, however, her best friends were Carol, Daryl, and whatever toys she selected to play with, at night, out of the small bag of items that they'd found for her and carried around with them.

She could bounce and stand confidently on her feet when she had support or something to hold onto, but she still feared letting go. She would babble nearly all day long, but the only words she frequently employed were some variation of "Mama," "Dada," and "Milk," which were all incomplete and barely decipherable by anyone except Carol and Daryl.

But even if she was a bit delayed, at least she was happy.

Carol smiled to herself at Sophia's expression. She grinned at Daryl as he sat on the floor in the bedroom they'd claimed for the night in the house they'd cleared earlier. They'd cleared two houses—side by side—so there was enough room for everyone to rest well for one night. If nothing eventful happened, they may even try to stretch it two nights. Daryl sat on the bedroom floor in nothing more than his boxers and held Sophia, balanced on her feet, in front of him. He leaned forward to put his face at her level and Sophia laughed at him and reached forward to catch his face between her hands.

"She loves you so much," Carol mused from her spot on the floor. She sat with her back against the bed while Daryl sat with his back against the wall. She could do whatever she wanted to do. She could have relaxed and read a book by the light of their travel lantern if she'd wanted. Daryl wouldn't tell her how to spend her small amount of resting time. She preferred to watch the two of them, though, over most any leisure activity that she could imagine.

"She ain't hardly old enough to know what love is," Daryl said. He said it directly to Sophia who thought it was a wonderful thing to say. She squalled happily at him to signal her approval and bounced on her feet. Carol noticed that Daryl carefully took his hands away from Sophia's side when she straightened up—letting them hover just a half inch from touching the baby—but Sophia didn't notice that she stood on her own for a second before her Daddy's fingers wrapped securely around her again to protect her from falling in any direction.

"She might not be able to explain to anyone what it means," Carol said, "but she knows what it feels like. Look at how she's looking at you right now."

Daryl smiled to himself and Carol saw his cheeks blush a little pink in the dim light of the room.

"She ain't doin' nothin' but laughin' 'cause I been playin' with her," Daryl said, trying to dismiss Sophia's obvious emotions.

"She's looking at you like she adores you," Carol said. "She's a Daddy's girl." A deeper shade of red washed over Daryl's features, but Carol didn't let it deter her. She knew that he was still a little uncomfortable, but she'd started figuring out that he was more uncomfortable with the way that things made him feel than he was with the actual relationship.

Daryl was starting to truly love and to feel loved in return, and that was something that he evidently found very foreign and, at least, a little overwhelming. The only thing that Carol knew to do, in order to help him, was simply to love him that much more.

Daryl was an easy man to love, after all, even though he might try to make her and everyone else believe otherwise.

"A Daddy's girl, huh?" Daryl mused. The renewed rush of crimson told Carol that he must like something he heard and, therefore, he found it overwhelming. She smiled sincerely at him when he looked to her in search of confirmation. She nodded.

"A Daddy's girl," she repeated. "There's nobody to Sophia that's quite like her Daddy. You're her hero."

"Pffftt…" Daryl spat. The sound only amused Sophia more and she babbled at him before she blew a raspberry practically in his face. He moved one hand from holding her up to wipe his face and then he blew a raspberry back at her. She howled in satisfaction. "I ain't done nothin' to be a hero…"

Carol swallowed her smile. Daryl was clearly wanting a little praise, and she would gladly give it to him. In exchange, she already knew that he would care for Sophia until she was tired and ready for her milk and then, when she was down and resting, he would care for Carol to the best of his abilities.

And what he lacked in skill, he more than made up, tenfold, in enthusiasm.

"Nothing at all," Carol teased. "Except for—save her life. Love her each and every day. Rescue her every night from her mean, mean Mommy that traps her in the wrap and won't let her scoot around as fast as she can."

"Yeah," Daryl mused. "Her Ma who's keepin' her safe no matter what the hell she's gotta do to do it. She don't know it breaks your back to carry her around an' do the same work as everybody else. Hell—more'n most if we're bein' honest. She don't know you do it all just to keep her safe. Make sure you right there so don't nothin' get to her. Means more'n anything I ever done."

"I'd say saving her life was a pretty big deal," Carol said. "Being willing to sacrifice your own for hers? And you keep her fed."

"You keep her fed," Daryl said. "You the one makes the milk that ends up bein' the bulk of her calories."

"And you keep me fed to make the milk," Carol said. She moved around on the floor, sliding across it very much like Sophia did because she didn't want to get up. She moved beside Daryl and let her back share the same wall that he was using. Upon seeing her, Sophia reached for her with the hand that Daryl wasn't holding and did her best to scramble toward Carol. Daryl helped her so that she could climb the mountains of their legs to the safety of her mother's arms.

Carol scooped her up, hugged the baby against her chest, and kissed the side of Sophia's face. In return, Sophia babbled at her, hummed, and rested her head against Carol's face again to request another kiss.

"She loves you," Daryl said.

"It's not a competition," Carol said. "She loves both of us. And—that's the way it should be, right? She should have a Mama that she loves, and she should have a Daddy that she loves."

"I think—what's most important is that she's got a Mama and—and she's got a—she's got a Daddy that…that loves her," Daryl said.

Carol was proud of him. He put the words together and they came out more confidently than they had a few times in the past.

"She certainly has that," Carol said. "It's something every child should have. It's too bad that—there are some who don't."

Daryl hummed. Carol knew that the sentiment hit home for him. It was one of the reasons that she put a great deal of effort into praising him and reassuring him. He wanted to be Sophia's Daddy. He wanted to be Carol's "man"—since he found boyfriend to be juvenile and he found anything else to be a little frightening still. He feared that, like his father, he would fail at being a good husband if he were to commit to the title. By extension, he also feared that he'd fail at being a good Daddy.

Carol fully intended to convince him that he was an excellent example of both things, but it was going to take time. She didn't want to push too hard, after all. Besides, if they were lucky, they had a lifetime available to them. And if they weren't, at least he'd know that he was loved—even if he found it hard to believe that he deserved such love.

"If you had let go of her hand," Carol said softly, moving Sophia around to feed when her daughter started tugging at the neck of her shirt to try to reach a breast on her own, "I think she might have taken a step."

"She'd do damn near anything to get to you," Daryl teased. He reached a hand out and patted Carol's leg. She enjoyed the way he kneaded the muscle of her thigh. She didn't miss, either, that his hand slid upward as he worked the muscle. He might not mention it until Sophia was tucked into bed, but Carol could almost always guess what was on his mind if they had even an ounce of privacy when the little girl was down for the night.

"She'd do damn near anything to get to milk," Carol said. "I just happen to be the keeper of the milk. Still, I think she might have taken her first steps just then."

"Our legs was in the way," Daryl said. "That's the only reason I ain't let go of her. I doubt her first steps are gonna be over an obstacle course. Still—it won't be long 'fore she's walkin'. You can bet on that."

"And then she's really not going to want to spend her whole life trapped in a wrap, Daryl," Carol said.

Daryl examined the floor and nodded to himself.

"I'll find her one of them pens," Daryl said. "Somethin' we can fold up an' carry with us. She can at least be in it while you workin'. Just keep it near you." Carol nodded her acceptance. Daryl touched her face to turn her head so that she was facing him. "Yeah?" He asked. "You like that?"

"I do," Carol said. "Until we can find something—safe. Until we can find something permanent. She might be a pen baby, but at least she'll be able to stretch her legs."

Daryl nodded his agreement. He leaned and kissed the side of Carol's face.

"I'll tell 'em tomorrow we goin' on a run. Search the nearby town. Spend a couple nights here if we gotta. We'll find her somethin'.

"Rick's not going to like it," Carol said with a laugh.

"If he hates it that damn much," Daryl said, "he can go on without us. We'll catch up." He laughed to himself. "And without food or hot water—or any of the damn things they seem incapable of fuckin' handling, it won't be us that's hurtin' for a couple days on our own. Not even with the baby."


	55. Chapter 55

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol's stomach churned with the almost animalistic warning that conflict was coming. Danger was coming. Her marriage to Ed had practically taught her to smell anger brewing in the air.

Rick was a man on mission, but he was clueless as to what that mission actually was. He wanted to charge at it, head down and eyes closed, at the fastest speed he could possibly muster. He seemed to believe that whatever it was he wanted would somehow vanish into thin air if he didn't make it there in time.

Daryl and Hershel, on the other hand, seemed to agree that slow and steady was just fine for them. There was no race to be won, really, and they were both fans of stamina over speed. They were true tortoises to Rick's hare-like personality. They had nowhere in particular to be and no guarantee that they would ever get there. They were content, therefore, to go slowly and gather what they could along the way. At least the possessions that they accrued, and used as needed, were concrete. They were a visible and tangible guarantee of at least temporary security. They were more valuable than the time they'd save by bypassing them in order to get to a possible Never-Never Land that might turn out to be nonexistent.

Everyone else remained somewhat neutral because there was no need for more voices.

Carol could smell potential conflict in the air like rain while she stood on the sidewalk holding Sophia on her hip.

The two houses they'd stayed in had served them well. The cul-de-sac seemed entirely abandoned. There were no Walkers in the street, there were no Walkers in cars parked in driveways, and there were no Walkers throwing themselves against windows in the neighboring houses, at least that they could detect. They'd spent two nights in the houses and, honestly, they could spend another night or two there if such a thing was necessary. There was a real wood fireplace in one of the houses—though not in the second—and it allowed Carol to warm water and heat food for the group. They weren't protected by fences, but they seemed somewhat protected by the winding suburban roads around them.

As far as places to stay temporarily went, the houses weren't the worst places they'd chosen for a few nights.

But Rick was chomping at the bit to move on toward the imaginary place that was at risk of simply vanishing if he didn't get there in record time. He wasn't going to be pleased, when he came out of the house he was sharing with his family, to find Hershel and Daryl musing over one of the two dozen maps they had gathered—the whole thing spread out on the hood of the truck.

Carol tensed when she saw Rick coming out of the house. A few steps behind him came Lori—visibly pregnant, though Carol suspected she might look more dramatically pregnant because she was small-framed to begin with and this was her second pregnancy—and Carl walked close behind his mother.

Instinctively, Carol shifted Sophia to her other hip and turned her body to keep herself between Sophia and Rick. She only realized she'd done it once she'd settled Sophia in comfortably and her daughter had reached to pull at her shoulder—the one that had been injured many times over—for attention.

The rest of their group—Hershel's little family, Glenn, and T-Dog—were still inside the houses that they had temporarily called home.

"Everyone packed?" Rick asked. "It's about time to get a move on if we want to make the best of this day."

"We ain't leavin' today," Daryl offered bluntly.

Rick laughed to himself. It was a sharp burst of artificial laughter that was simply a response to hearing something he either couldn't digest or wasn't willing to digest.

"What do you mean?" He asked. "Of course, we're leaving today. We stayed two nights. We agreed that staying anywhere longer than that was too risky, especially if we're sure that we're in a place we aren't going to settle."

"We haven't seen any Walkers," Hershel said. "It seems that they get caught by everything else they have to move through to get back here. We think it'll be safe for another night or two."

"Why would we want to stay here another night or two?" Rick asked. There was a definite elevation in the volume of his voice. Rick was a man who needed to blow of steam. He was a man who practically started to emit a low-pitched buzz if he didn't have something happen every now and again to relieve some kind of pressure that built up inside of him.

That was something he'd had in common with his ex-partner.

That kind of man made Carol's stomach twist involuntarily because she'd been married to man who had a particular need to let off steam at regular intervals, whether or not there was any reason for him to feel particularly irritated.

"If these tourist maps we found are right," Daryl started, "then there's a shoppin' mall or center or whatever you wanna call it that's not too damn far from here."

He pointed his finger at the spot on the map that he and Hershel had found.

"It looks like there's a veterinarian's office and a pet supply store in the plaza," Hershel said. "Usually in these kinds of plazas you can find a small clinic or a pharmacy or two as well. I wouldn't mind having a look to see what we could find."

"And there's a baby store," Daryl said.

"We don't need anything else right now," Rick said. "The truck's almost full."

Carol felt Daryl's scowl even before she saw it. Hershel, too, looked at least a little irritated at having his desire shot down before the requests were fairly considered. Carol also knew that the moving truck that Glenn was driving—packed with things that they would use when they found the perfect place to settle for good, but also containing things that needed daily like canned goods and toilet paper—was nowhere near full. They emptied it of supplies daily.

"Truck ain't full," Daryl countered.

"Look—I appreciate your efforts to find more stuff," Rick said. "But for the time being what we really need to do is move on. Lori doesn't need anything else half as much as she needs a safe place to have the baby."

Carol would have had no other explanation for Daryl's expression except to say that he bared his fangs at Rick for at least a half a second. He left the spot where he'd been happy to show Rick their discovery on a map attempting to promote summer tourism to those who were on their way from Atlanta to some other destination and might want to spend some money in the nearby little city—and he walked toward the man. Carol backed up a few steps and bounced her daughter when Sophia fussed over wanting to get down and stretch her legs.

"What the hell makes you think every fuckin' thing I think or do is about Lori?" Daryl asked. There was venom in his voice, and Carol saw Rick tense in response to the threat in Daryl's tone. "This ain't even fuckin' about Lori, man. What I got to find ain't for Lori. It's for Carol. For Sophia."

"Any medicine I could find would be for everyone," Hershel offered. He was clearly trying to find a way to keep some peace, but Carol feared that wasn't going to be possible. Rick was at the point where he needed to blow off a little steam. And Daryl, though he really wasn't the kind that needed the release too often, was the kind of man that would more than gladly meet the challenge of a man who needed to blow off steam.

"We've wasted enough time," Rick said, "wandering around and collecting supplies. It doesn't do us any good if we don't have somewhere to live. Somewhere to use that supplies! We're wasting time!"

"Where the hell you want us to stop, Rick? Where the hell you want us to live? We ain't found a fuckin' place yet that's suitable for stayin' long term. What the hell you want us to do? You want me to shit a place for you? A place that fulfills all your fuckin' requirements? Go out in the woods, Rick. Find a plot of fuckin' land and build paradise. But it's too damn much work an' you ain't gonna put it in—so we gotta look for somethin' that's damn near ready-made. Well we ain't found it yet."

"Lori needs…" Rick started.

The woman in question was keeping her mouth closed. She was several feet from Carol. She was wide-eyed and she was holding her son in front of her. She had her arms wrapped tight around him. Carol wondered if she was new to this side of her husband. She wondered if she'd been blind to the way that Shane had acted—the warning signs that had been there. She wondered if this new world had really brought something out in Rick, too, that Lori had never seen before.

"I'm sick to fuckin' death of hearin' about what the fuck Lori needs!" Daryl snapped.

For her part, Carol wasn't at all under the impression that Daryl didn't have a very explosive side. The only thing she trusted was that he'd control himself. He wouldn't allow himself to blow up against her or Sophia. He would step away.

Daryl had an explosive side, but most of the time he stepped away unless he was cornered.

If Rick let him, he'd step away now, too.

"You don't understand…" Rick started.

"You right," Daryl interrupted. "I don't fuckin' understand. When you said that Lori needed a better fuckin' variety of food to eat—we all give up everything that come outta boxes and bags and cans but beans so she could take her pick. I ain't eat a damned thing but squirrels an' fuckin' beans in so long I can't remember nothin' else. When you said we had to find shit for when the baby come, we found you what the hell you needed to sleep better at night. When you made your damn laundry list of demands about what the hell a place had to be an' have in place when we got there, we bypassed everywhere we coulda made into a home to make you fuckin' happy. So, I don't fuckin' understand why it's some damn problem for me to take one damn day to go get somethin' I wanna go get."

"Every day there's some reason that we're not making it anywhere and time is—it's slipping away. Look—if you were married, you'd understand."

Daryl straightened up and became strangely calm for a moment. He laughed to himself.

"If I was married," he said. "I'd understand. Man—fuck you. I understand just fuckin' fine. I understand that what's important is what you want, when you want it. Not what I want. What's important for your wife. Your kid. Not what I wanna get for my daughter…"

Rick laughed to himself. He held his hand out in Daryl's direction like he was going to suddenly brandish a chair or whip in the other hand and try to tame Daryl.

"It's different," Rick said. "Lori's pregnant. Right now. And every day, I know that baby is growing. It's one day closer to coming into the world. The feelings, the urgency—they're different. Sophia's not really your daughter…"

Daryl didn't want to fight. Carol could see it. He was ready to walk away. It would be Rick that decided if he let him go or he forced his hand. Daryl even backed up a step—toward the truck and back to gather up the map—to show Rick that he was physically stepping out of his space.

"Fuck you," Daryl said. "You know what? You're right. She's not my fuckin' daughter. That what you wanna hear? That what the hell you want me to say, Rick? You got some kinda monopoly on that shit. Only one knows what it's like to be you—sufferin' so damn much more than the rest of us. But fuck you. She don't gotta be my fuckin' daughter for me to know that she's growin' too, Rick. An' you know what the hell else? Fuckin' bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, but you too damn dumb to think about that shit. She's a kid. Real as anybody else. An' I'ma get her what the fuck I know she needs 'fore I'm losin' too damn much sleep over what a kid I don't even know is ever gonna exist needs."

"We should stay here for the night," Hershel said. "We shouldn't waste our time fighting. We can go and get what we need—clean out all these places—before the sun goes down, if we stop fighting and leave now. This isn't accomplishing anything. It's tearing us apart—and for no good reason."

"We should've moved on by now," Rick said. "There's nothing we need as urgently as we need shelter."

"I would agree with that," Hershel said, "but we have shelter for now. And antibiotics? I'd argue that there's very little we need more than extra medication. We need to gather that anywhere we can possibly find it. What Daryl wants—it'll be good for Sophia's development…"

"What Daryl doesn't realize is that a place to call home," Rick said, "a place to settle—that's what would be best for Sophia's development."

"But I wouldn't realize that shit 'cause she ain't my kid," Daryl spat. "And if it weren't my shit that made her—I don't got the sense not to drown her in the rain, ain't that what the hell you sayin'?"

"Daryl—son…" Hershel said, reaching out to put his hand on Daryl's shoulder and to try to physically ground Daryl.

Daryl shrugged him off, balled up the map in his hand, and trudged up the walkway toward the house where they'd been staying. He walked past Carol, but she felt the tug to follow him—like she knew that he'd invite her even if he didn't say anything. He turned as he reached the door.

"You go on!" He yelled back at Rick. "Go where the hell you wanna go. Find what the hell you got to find. We'll catch up to you. Or we fuckin' won't. Good damn luck to you without nobody to hunt your food, or cook your fuckin' food for that matter. Without nobody to clean up after you all the damn time!"

"Daryl…" Rick said, calming with Daryl's words. He must have recognized that there was sincerity in the threat.

"No!" Daryl barked. "I weren't never gonna stay with you! Me an' Merle weren't gonna stay with this damn group in the beginning. Only reason I fuckin' stayed was 'cause of Carol an' 'cause I ain't minded the company. I didn't never stay 'cause I needed you, Rick. It ain't never been me that needed you. An' now…I got Carol an' we don't need you. So, you go the fuck on if you got places you gotta be. We'll see you down the road a piece, if you make it that fuckin' far…but I gotta go to town."

Daryl finished storming into the house. Rick growled to himself and stomped off in the opposite direction with nowhere to go except the street. Apparently, he intended to make a trip around the cul-de-sac to cool down.

Hershel walked over and put his hands on Carol's shoulders—one on each shoulder and squeezed.

"Daryl's serious," Carol offered quietly.

"I know he is," Hershel responded. He took Sophia when she reached for him. "And when Rick gets back, I imagine that he'll have had a change of heart. We'll be going to town while y'all stay here and watch out for Walkers."

"I don't think they're done fighting," Carol offered.

Hershel laughed to himself.

"I'm certain they aren't," Hershel said. "That was a low blow—uncalled for—that Rick dealt Daryl. But—they'll get over it enough to go to town and, eventually, they'll figure out how they work together."

"Daryl's never really fought to make the decisions before," Carol offered. It was something new emerging, day by day, in his personality.

Hershel hummed.

"He's never had something worth fighting for before," Hershel said. "Come on. Let's go sort out who's going to town and who's staying here."


	56. Chapter 56

**AN: Here's another chapter here.**

 **I may have to apologize for this one being really long, but there was nowhere to cut it. It felt like it all needed to be included here, so here it is.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Hershel kept step not very far behind Rick and Daryl, but he wanted to give the two men some space. They needed it. And he needed to allow them enough room for the fight that was very likely to break out at any moment. Glenn kept a good deal of distance between himself and even Hershel. It wasn't difficult to feel the tension and conflict hanging in the air. In fact, Hershel thought, amusing himself a little as he walked, that could be the reason that they'd seen so few Walkers. Even the Walkers wanted to keep their distance from the conflict that was brewing.

If they actually came to blows, Hershel would break Daryl and Rick up before it got too serious—he'd promised Carol that—but he'd allow for a few punches to be thrown. Sometimes, he knew, people needed to throw a few punches and blow off a little steam to lower the tension in the atmosphere. At this moment, there was a true need to lower the tension.

A large part of the tension was coming from the fact that there was a great deal that had been left unsaid. Daryl hadn't spoken about the confrontation with anyone—not even with Carol—before he'd packed a bag of the absolute essentials that he considered necessary to spend a day searching for supplies and had headed for his truck. He'd barely allowed Hershel time to make it to the truck and join him before he'd pulled off to turn around in the cul-de-sac and head toward town. In the truck, he'd basically enforced the rule of silence, coming right out and telling Hershel that he had no interest in talking and, if that's what Hershel felt inclined to do, he'd just as soon stop the truck and let him find his own way to where he was going.

Hershel doubted, sincerely, that Daryl would have actually put him out, but he understood the message that Daryl was attempting to convey and he respected the man's desire to have some silence and to be alone with his thoughts and feelings. He respected Daryl's right not to talk about what had been said if he didn't want to discuss it.

The choice had been to take the smallest group necessary. Daryl and Rick would have gone alone if they didn't need Hershel to make short work of sorting medications anywhere that they encountered them.

Rick was only going because, as long as they were going to town instead of moving on, he thought it was best if they gathered what supplies they could. Glenn had been recruited, then, to simply be an extra pair of hands for moving things as quickly as possible to their second pickup truck—the one that T-Dog usually drove and the one that had brought Rick and Glenn to town—while someone kept watch for Walkers or people.

The trip, in Hershel's opinion, had immediately proven to be worthwhile. Just before reaching the shopping plaza that was advertised on the tourism map, they come across both a small veterinarian's office and a small doctor's office. Neither had offered them a lifetime supply of anything very useful, but both had been left fairly un-looted. Both had also only offered a small handful of Walkers that required being put down to clean out anything and everything that might prove useful. Hershel had unashamedly requested that Daryl find a vehicle that would run, if possible, just to make sure that they were not forced to leave anything behind. He was now responsible for driving the old, red Chevrolet truck—the first thing they found with a bed— that Daryl had hotwired about two blocks from the veterinarian's office.

The plaza itself had provided them with some supplies gathered from the small vet's office there, the pet store, and a pharmacy and grocery combination store. They hadn't hit a jackpot there, since all the places had been looted before, but they'd certainly gathered a worthwhile amount of supplies—especially given that nobody seemed to think it important to take animal medication and it had obviously been looted toward the beginning of the outbreak when people were still grabbing things that would later prove useless while leaving some things—like aspirin—that were becoming invaluable.

Hershel would have even argued with Rick that what they found was worth giving up even a week's worth of forward progress, since one of the things that they'd recovered from the doctor's office was an emergency manual respirator. It was far less than perfect when other things were on offer, but without other things, it would allow him to keep someone breathing if he needed to do such a thing. It was, among a pile of other things, one of his greatest treasures from the supply run.

It could mean the difference between life and death—even for Rick's own family members.

Now they were walking toward the store that Daryl most wanted to visit—all other stores having been stripped of most anything they could consider useful and all other supplies loaded into the three trucks they had between them—and it was clear that tension was mounting in an increasingly uncomfortable way.

Rick had been wrong.

Rick had been wrong on many levels.

He'd been wrong to try to deny Hershel and Daryl the supply trip that they'd wanted to plan. He'd been wrong to suggest that the trip would yield nothing worthwhile and would only cost them time. He'd been wrong to suggest—even though he hadn't said it directly—that the trip would only harm his family and was some demonstration that the group didn't care a sufficient amount about his expected child or his family's needs.

And, above all, Rick had been wrong to suggest that Daryl couldn't understand his feelings because Daryl wasn't married and, even more than that, wasn't the true father of Sophia.

More than anything else, and without him having said a word about it, Hershel knew that particular jab from Rick was stuck like a barb buried in Daryl's side. He imagined it was probably stuck somewhere around the scar that marked where a bolt had gone through the side of his body when he'd sustained a fall while searching for medication to keep the girl alive. Hershel imagined the barb might hurt every bit as much as the bolt had.

It was that barb that had kept Daryl quiet the entire trip—except for words that were necessary to accomplishing their goal—and it was that barb that kept him walking now, head down, and smoking a cigarette out of one of the packs he'd found, without saying a word to anyone.

Hershel knew, too, that Rick had to recognize how wrong he'd been, but he was silent because a man like Rick Grimes was an especially proud man who didn't quite know how to admit when he'd been wrong or how to make amends for what he'd said and done.

Hershel remained silent—except when words were absolutely necessary—because he wanted the two men to work things out for themselves. He knew that they had to work them out for themselves if they wanted to continue travelling together. It was possible that Glenn guarded silence for exactly the same reason.

As they approached the store, they found a pack of six confused Walkers who were caught in something of a borderless trap between the store a line of cars that was parked near the front, as though the end of the world had simply happened while the people of this town were out shopping as usual. The Walkers were dumb and they bumped into each other, the front of the store, and the cars, without ever seeming to figure out how to turn the right way and escape their self-imposed prison.

It was clear that it had been some time since people had come through this town. The dead were more emaciated than Hershel had seen them other places, and they were ambling without reason. There was absolutely nothing living around them, and there was nothing to hunt.

Daryl quickly and expertly dispatched enough bolts to take down all six of the confused Walkers before they ever even realized that food was drawing close to them. As they reached the store front, he gathered and cleaned his bolts, replaced one in his crossbow, and put the others in his quiver. Then he banged his hand hard on the door of the store. He repeated the action and waited. Within minutes, there was a small bunch of Walkers that gathered on the other side of the glass, hungrily throwing themselves against it in a vain effort to gain food.

Badges and uniforms identified store employees and Hershel spied the several obviously expectant mothers that had been caught in the store. The town had been stopped abruptly, that much was clear. He wasn't prepared for the toddler that slammed itself against the door.

Rick made a noise. Glenn did too.

Daryl cursed under his breath before he used the butt of his crossbow to shatter the door. He ran backward even as the glass was still spilling to the ground. The Walkers found it difficult to come out of the small space provided to them since they all wanted to come at once, but their inability to work rationally worked out in the favor of Daryl and the small group of living people that hung behind him. Daryl put down the Walkers, one by one, as they spilled out the door instead of allowing his travelling companions to help him.

Hershel let him have the Walkers. They blew off steam, if nothing more.

The toddling Walker had gotten trampled by the mass. It was the last to stumble—crawling then—over the bodies left behind, one of which, surely, must have been its mother. Daryl watched it a moment. Just a moment. And then he dispatched it with a bolt the same way he'd done the others.

Hershel heard him clearly, as did everyone else, when he yanked the bolt out of the small creature's skull.

"This is why the fuck I do what the hell I do," he muttered, not entirely trying to hide his words. "It weren't nothin' but a baby."

He stepped around the mass of bodies and gathered up bolts as he went. When he stepped into the dark store, the rest of them followed. As before, Hershel and Glenn allowed Rick to go first.

Daryl flicked on his flashlight and grabbed a shopping cart. He grabbed a second to tow behind him. It was clear that he intended to get any and every item he desired while they were there. Hershel could tell from his demeanor, too, that he was just waiting for someone to challenge him. In a show of solidarity, Hershel took a cart in case Daryl might fill his up and discover that he needed more room. He towed a second behind him, as well. Glenn followed suit. Rick simply walked uncomfortably in the middle of them as they followed Daryl—the sound of all the carts echoing in the empty store like the sound of a small train rattling its way across uneven tracks.

The place had been left entirely un-looted. Nobody had stepped foot in the store since it had frozen in time, swallowed up by the plague or whatever it was that had descended upon all of mankind.

Daryl cleaned out everything in the baby food aisle. He cleaned out diapers and pacifiers and other trinkets. He cleaned out things for new mothers that Hershel doubted he could even identify. Carol might know what they were, and Daryl would offer them to her and to Lori, too, if he made peace with Rick. Daryl loaded clothes in shopping carts of all sizes and he raked down a few racks of women's clothing. He loaded toys in the cart, and anything else that he deemed even relatively useful. When he finally reached what he was most interested in, though, a look of something akin to excitement flitted across his features before being swallowed up again by the sullen mood that he'd been in since leaving the cul-de-sac.

Wraps went into carts, along with a carrier and car seat combo which got piled on top of everything in one cart. His excitement was greatest, though as he struggled to drag the large box off a low shelf. It was a one of those pack and play items—something Sophia could sleep in and play in while being kept secure and out of trouble. Hershel helped him get the box out and Glenn helped him load it on a cart. Daryl considered it a moment and went back for another. Without words, they helped him with that box as well.

"In case your kid ever gets around to walkin'," Daryl muttered as a half-hearted explanation of the second large box.

It broke the tension and Rick sighed loudly enough that the release of air echoed in the store.

"Daryl, I didn't mean…"

Daryl turned quickly on his heels and Glenn backed up a few steps. His retreat was made even more obvious when he accidentally bumped into the shopping cart behind him and sent it crashing into the metal shelving.

"But'cha did mean it, Rick," Daryl said. "That's the damned thing. You meant it all. And so the fuck did I."

Daryl wasn't yelling. In fact, his voice was barely at the normal volume for talking. He growled out the words, though. Hershel heard them vibrate in his throat.

In his gut, he understood. He was a father himself, and he'd do anything he had to do for his little girls, no matter how big they got. It was something primal in all of them—at least in all of them that loved their children.

And these days, the inner animal that resided in all of them was just a little closer to the surface than it had ever been allowed to be before.

Daryl was as much a father as any man had ever been—and he'd do whatever he had to do for Sophia. Nobody would stop him, and that was clear.

Rick must have understood it, too, because he held his hands up in surrender.

"I only meant—she's not your biological child," Rick said. Hershel heard his police training. He heard the steady hold of his voice—his attempt to keep things from escalating.

"You meant that 'cause it weren't me fuckin' Carol when she got pregnant with Sophia," Daryl said. His voice was low, but he was practically snarling out the words with his teeth bared in anger, disgust, or both. "That it ought not to matter to me. You meant that—'cause I didn't blow a fuckin' load that it ought not matter to me. Like that's all the hell that Carol an' Sophia come down to. All the hell family comes down to—bustin' a damn nut. An' since I weren't the one that done it—you meant that I can't give a shit about Sophia. Can't care about her."

"That's not what I meant at all. I just meant it's different…" Rick offered.

Hershel thought he could hear the electricity crackling in the air between the two men. The only light, this deep in the store, was that which came from a flashlight Hershel carried and that which came from the one that Daryl had balanced on top of things in his cart. It cast an eerie glow over the two men who might go for each other's throats at any moment.

"Is it different for you, Rick?" Daryl asked.

Glenn's cart rattled—proof that he'd put at least another step or two between himself and the two men who seemed likely to tangle up like animals in the middle of the aisle.

"Careful, brother," Rick offered.

Daryl laughed in his throat at Rick's warning.

"I ain't your brother," Daryl offered. "And I ain't sayin' nothin' that'cha don't know to be true. I know it to be true, Rick, that Sophia ain't my kid. I know I weren't the one put Sophia in Carol's belly. You know for sure you were the one put that baby there for Lori?"

Rick bristled and visibly tensed.

"That's my child," Rick said. "Don't you say that shit again."

Daryl hummed, sounding somewhat amused at Rick's clear distress.

"And Sophia's mine," Daryl responded, much more calmly than before. "So, you just remember that—and maybe I don't forget that you want us to consider you to be this kid's daddy."

Hershel had seen this behavior a thousand times. It was the reason that he never put two bulls in the same pasture. It was the reason they kept only one tom for a barn cat. It was the reason he preferred not to have more than one dog protecting things on his farm at any given time. It was the reason that they very carefully separated Alpha males and females in the small animal clinic where he'd worked for a while before deciding that he wanted to dedicate his life to large animals.

Eventually, when there were multiple Alpha males and Alpha females in a pack, Hershel knew that they would work out who would be in charge. It never really meant, though, that the one who accepted the role as Beta had given up their strength entirely. It only meant that they agreed to stay down—until they decided not to do so any longer or there was need for a new Alpha.

Daryl was content to lay low. He had no need to be Alpha. But he was making it very clear to Rick, at that moment and in more ways than one, that the only reason Rick ruled was because Daryl allowed it.

Rick must have understood. His whole body relaxed with the movement of a man who was making a decision that was best for all of them.

"Sophia's your daughter," Rick said.

"And I understand what the fuck it is to want to take care of her," Daryl offered, almost like he was reciting an oath for someone to take.

"You understand what it is to—want to take care of her," Rick ceded.

"The same as you an' Hershel with your kids," Daryl said. Rick hesitated and Daryl made a sound that Hershel would have associated with the warning snort of a bull.

"You've got the same kind of feelings," Rick said, "because you've taken her for your own. Daryl—I didn't mean to say that you couldn't care for her."

"And for Carol," Daryl said.

"And for Carol," Rick echoed. "I only meant that Lori's pregnant, and that puts her in a very delicate position…"

Daryl laughed. It was a low, rumbling laugh. It didn't signify genuine amusement.

"Every day, Carol's burnin' a shit ton of calories doin' most of the work of carin' for this whole damn bunch of people. She's puttin' most of what she eats into milk for Sophia 'cause we can't find enough baby food to keep her always fed that way—and she still needs the nutrition the milk's got to offer. Every day? I'm watchin' Carol get thinner, an' thinner, an' thinner—half fuckin' terrified she's just gonna disappear entirely or fall out on the ground from starvation—while I'm skinnin' everything from fuckin' field mice to deer tryin' to keep everybody fuckin' fed."

"Daryl…" Rick started.

"Don't you interrupt me!" Daryl barked. This time the words ran around the entirety of the store and came back to slam into them all. The shopping cart behind him rattled and Hershel swallowed back some amusement. Glenn was liable to turn the corner soon. He had no desire to even attempt to be an Alpha male and, really, that was for the better. Rick held up his hands again to Daryl. Daryl lit a cigarette for himself, satisfied that he had his soapbox. He had his moment. They would hear him, if nothing else. "Carol don't complain. Keeps right on workin'—doin' every damn thing she don't get no fuckin' thanks for. Keeps givin' of her own damn body to feed Sophia. If the milk runs out, then I gotta watch Sophia go without. Gotta hear her cry 'cause she's hungry an' she don't got the resolve like her Ma to accept that her fuckin' lot in life seems to be gettin' shit on by you…"

"Daryl…" Rick started. Daryl only straightened up and Rick held his hands up again.

"Gotta hear you bitch 'cause she cries—like your kid ain't never gonna cry," Daryl said. "Babies cry, Rick. That's what they do. But you don't value lives that's here half as damn much as you do them that's on the way so I'ma put it another damn way. I'm fuckin' Carol. And if you didn't know that—if nobody here knew that? You know it now. So there ain't nothin' to say to me that she ain't just as knocked up as Lori is. And if she is? That one's mine, Rick. Since I know that's so important to you to know—it's mine. Made from me layin' down with her the same as you an' Lori ever done."

"I didn't mean to piss you off," Rick offered, still attempting to create peace.

Daryl laughed again. There was still no actual humor behind the laugh. There was, instead, a great deal of warning there.

"I ain't pissed off," Daryl said. "I don't got time to be pissed off. I just know now that it's about what's yours an' what's mine 'cause you don't see no ours."

"That's not how it is, Daryl," Rick offered.

"Fifty, fifty," Daryl said, ignoring Rick's protests. "From now on. Whatever we find—food wise—it's an even split of that we offerin' to Carol an' Lori. Everyone gets what they gonna get an' we split the rest. Fifty, fifty. We feed Sophia what she can eat. Feed Carl enough to keep him growin'. Divvy out what the hell we can to everyone else. But every mouthful you think of givin' Lori? Same damn mouthful goes to Carol."

"That sounds like some kind of ultimatum," Rick said.

"Good," Daryl said. "Because that's exactly what the fuck it is. Just like you meant what the hell you said, Rick, back at them houses? I meant what I said. We don't need you. You say the word an' we'll go. Otherwise—we'll stay an' it's fifty, fifty. If it ain't?" He shrugged and took a long drawn on the cigarette to finish it off before he put it out in the aisle. "We go an' it's a hundred fuckin' percent for my family an' you do whatever the hell you can for yours. I ain't pissed Rick. But you lookin' out for yours—so I'ma look out for mine."

Rick looked in Hershel's direction like he was seeking some kind of solidarity or, perhaps, advice. He looked in Glenn's direction, too, and then he brought his eyes back to Hershel.

"We need to work on a better division of the food," Hershel said. "Most of us can stand to do without and we're willing to do without. But—what Daryl says is true. Sophia needs to eat. And Carol needs to eat to feed Sophia. Even more if her body is able to sustain a pregnancy, at this point, that we aren't aware of yet."

"Take your time an' think about it," Daryl said. "Whether we leave tomorrow or next week; whether we leave with the group or alone; Carol an' me's gonna be fine—an' she ain't goin' to sleep starvin' no fuckin' more when there was food to be had. And when I say my kid needs somethin'? It's every bit as important as what your kid needs. That oughta go for any kid to come, too, no matter where it comes from."

"You're right," Rick ceded.

"What'd you say?" Daryl asked with obvious disbelief.

"You're right," Rick said. "We'll take care of the kids. All the kids. First."

"And Carol and Lori equally," Daryl said.

"We know Lori's pregnant," Rick said. "You're only saying Carol might be…"

"Carol is breastfeeding," Hershel offered, hoping to keep things civil now that the crackling electricity had left the air and he was almost confident this could be resolved without a physical altercation. "It technically requires more for her to produce a high and steady supply of milk for Sophia than it does for Lori to support a baby, even in the third trimester. Carol's weight is dropping dangerously low. We can all see it. Her body will take from her first before it starves Sophia. That's without even considering the fact that she might be pregnant and, frankly, from a medical standpoint, that isn't something I would want to imagine right now. Not with how thin she looks. Daryl isn't being unreasonable with his request."

"I would want the same for Maggie," Glenn offered.

It was the first time he'd spoken and everyone turned toward him. Hershel let the flashlight beam fall over him and Glenn almost looked frightened.

"I mean—not that she's pregnant or…or that I'm saying…" Glenn stammered.

Hershel felt amusement bubbling in his belly. They lived on the road. Quarters were often tight and it wasn't as though people were as quiet as they thought they were.

"I may be an old man, son," Hershel offered. "But I'm still a man. And Maggie is fully-grown and able to make her own decisions, whether or not I wholly approve of them. Still—I agree. I think that the courtesy should be extended to any woman who may find herself in need of the extra calories. We provide what we can when times are lean, but we do our best to take care of all of them."

"Sometimes we have to make choices," Rick said.

"That's true," Hershel offered, deciding he could speak for Daryl. Daryl didn't seem bothered by it. He lit himself another cigarette. "But if we're making choices, then we need those choices to carefully considered and balanced. If we must favor one today, the we favor the other tomorrow. We remember that everyone is the most important person to someone—and we don't condemn them."

"I never meant to…" Rick offered. He stopped and seemed to decide against making any excuse. He looked back at Daryl. "So, what do we do? Shake on it?"

Daryl offered his hand in a gesture of peace and Rick took it. He shook Daryl's hand and Daryl seemed satisfied enough to let it drop for now—at least until the moment came that he found he was dissatisfied with the way things were being handled.

"Anybody need anything else here?" He asked. "We get back before too late an' I might be able to take a walk—find somethin' for supper to go with all we found today."


	57. Chapter 57

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol knew that the greatest support she could offer Daryl for the time being was to simply be with him while he did what made him happy. Hershel told her what happened on the run when Daryl immediately set off to go hunting and left the rest of the group to unload and reload supplies where they thought reasonable.

He'd returned, practically beaming, carrying a small deer across his shoulders. He'd dropped it in the yard, near where Rick had been standing, and loudly growled out "I'll serve it" before he'd gone to the truck to get everything that he preferred to use for dressing the deer.

The deer had been roasted and the cooked meat had been served around with other things that they'd found on their run. They'd been able to have the most filling meal that Carol could really remember having had in a very long time. Carol had eaten until she'd been almost certain that she'd be sick, and she'd had to be a little sharp with her response to Daryl when he'd tried to push her into eating even more.

They had decided to stay one more day to rest, pack up camp properly, and to decide which direction they would take next—though really their decision had been more of a declaration that Daryl had made and with which nobody had argued.

And then Carol and Beth had boiled water to dole out to everyone in turns so that they could bathe. Daryl had bathed Sophia for Carol while she'd been waiting for her water—the last to come off the fire. Sophia was tired after her bath and, despite her jar of baby food that she'd had for dinner, she was hungry, so she'd launched into fussing as soon as she was clean and put into her pajamas. Carol had settled in to nurse her while Daryl had gone to work entertaining himself with the little playpen that he was as excited about as he might have been if it were a gift for him and not for Sophia.

Carol's silence would mean more to Daryl than any forced or useless words, and she knew that. She sat with him, nursing Sophia, while he followed the directions to assemble the pen. Carol's stomach had flipped a little when she'd thought about the fact that Ed, doing something similar would have gotten angry and frustrated. And, when he'd gotten angry or frustrated, he would have taken it out on her. He'd slapped her in the face pretty hard, once, when she'd been nearing the end of her pregnancy and he'd been working on putting the crib together. She had offered him the instructions when he'd complained about not knowing how the stupid thing went together, and he'd repaid her with slapping her hard enough to make her ears ring.

Daryl was already using the instructions, though, and instead of seeming frustrated, he seemed to relax more and more as he focused on getting the pen together. When it was done, and he was sure it was secure, he'd offered to take Sophia with nothing more than the holding out of his hands. Sophia, at that point, had finished eating and she'd happily gone to the man that she considered her loving and doting father.

"One of these days you gonna finally stop bein' scared an' take a couple steps without holdin' onto somethin'," Daryl said, practically cooing out the words. "An' when you do? There ain't gonna be no stoppin' you. You gonna be all over the place. An' me an' your Ma ain't gonna be able to watch you all the time an' it ain't fair to ask you to spend your whole life bound up in a wrap. An' we ain't gonna be able to sleep at night for thinkin' you gonna just up an' run away 'cause you got a mind to do it. Yeah—so we got'cha somethin'. You gonna like it. Yeah—it's like your own lil'—your own lil' space. Ya know? Go with us where we go an' you gonna hang out in there."

Carol smiled to herself, but she tried to swallow back some of her feelings. It was almost overwhelming watching Daryl with Sophia. The tenderness that he heaped on the baby was almost enough to choke Carol at times. If anyone had told her, the very first time that she'd laid eyes on Merle and Daryl Dixon, that Daryl would be the only person in the world that would love her daughter almost as much as she did, she never would have believed them.

But Sophia smiled at his words because she was enamored of everything he said—whether or not she understood it. And she trusted him as he lowered her down into the little pen. When her feet first touched the ground, she clearly locked her knees and fought against his efforts to sit her down. Still, she smiled at him like this was just another of their games where he tried to trick her into letting go of him and committing to some wandering steps.

After a moment, she relaxed, bent her little knees, and Daryl lowered her down to sit on her bottom. She sat, still clearly trying to figure out what kind of new game her daddy had invented for her, and waited. When Daryl pulled his hands away from her, though, and straightened up like he might leave her in the pen, Sophia immediately launched into a pitiful squall. She flopped over, took to her hands and knees because it was her most secure form of travel, scrambled to the perimeter of her mesh prison, and pressed her face against it.

And not only did she wail, but she piteously cried out barked "Das" to spot her wailing.

Carol sat back, discreetly pinching herself on the underside of her arm to keep from laughing, and watched to see how the "Da" in question might handle the meltdown.

"You supposed to like it," he said. It was an entirely reasonable statement, but the child that he made it to wasn't feeling reasonable at all. "Got it for you. So, you can move around in it."

The only place Sophia wanted to move was the to the side, where she sat now, with her face smashed into the mesh. Carol knew that her daughter was not actually suffering, so she allowed her to cry for a few moments. She allowed Daryl to try to talk reason into the baby from his standing spot a few feet from the pen. She only spoke out when Sophia started to gag, and that was mostly because she feared not having enough milk to fill her daughter's stomach again before she needed to sleep.

"Daddy," Carol said, just loudly enough to get Daryl's attention. He turned to look at her and she discreetly pinched herself hard on the underside of her arm again, so that she wouldn't laugh. He was clearly distraught over Sophia's absolute rejection of his thoughtful gift.

"She don't like it," Daryl said. Carol was going to leave bruises on her skin, but she didn't care. She refused to laugh at something that was serious to both Daryl and Sophia. She pinched the sensitive skin under her arm until she nearly made herself cry out in protest of her own mistreatment.

"She's not used to being alone," Carol said.

"She sleeps alone sometimes," Daryl pointed out.

"Sleeps," Carol said. "But we usually put her down when she's already asleep. She doesn't usually go to sleep alone."

"OK," Daryl said. He went over to one of the large duffels he'd packed with supplies for Sophia. The rest of her supplies had gone into the supply truck for when they moved. He burrowed around and came out with a toy that looked like lamb's head with a fluffy white blanket attached. He carried it over and, lowering himself down to his knees beside the pen, he held it over the side. Sophia, seeing what she wanted within reach, pulled herself up to her feet, holding onto the side of the pen, and hopped.

In that moment, watching her, Carol was a hundred percent certain that her daughter could stand and, without a doubt, walk. The only reason she hadn't yet was simply because she didn't trust herself and hadn't been distracted enough to do it without realizing what she was doing.

Sophia sucked in a little of her crying, but not all of it. She repeated a chain of "Das" as she did her best to reach for Daryl with the one arm that she didn't require to hold her up and support her illusion of not being able to stand by herself. She had less interest in the lamb than she had in the pen that held her captive. It was nighttime and the only thing she expected at night was milk and mommy cuddles that could be both preceded and followed by time with her daddy.

"It's soft," Daryl said, rubbing the toy against her face. "See?" He rubbed it against his face and then against hers and she took some interest in it. He repeated the action and she smashed her face against it. Daryl smiled. "You snuggle him. See? You hold him." He demonstrated that he wanted Sophia to hold the lamb against her face. She watched him intently and forgot that she was supposed to be protesting his cruelty. He was, after all, still paying her attention. He gave her the lamb and she hugged it like he'd shown her. Carol sat up from her slightly reclining position when Sophia stood, neither hand on the side of the pen, and hugged her lamb. "Sssshhhhh…" Daryl hissed at her, very softly. She understood. "It's soft an' it keeps you company in there," Daryl said. "It's a friend, ya know? You know, Soph? He's like—like a friend. To keep you comp'ny all the time in there, right? Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sophia barked. "Yeah," she repeated, her voice softer. It was one of the few sounds she could parrot pretty well since Daryl said it to her quite often.

Evidently, she liked the lamb, because she continued to hug it. Sophia had lost all her toys when they'd lost the farm except for a few that had been in the truck. She'd never bonded with any of them, really. Very slowly, Daryl crawled along the floor on his knees to change the side of the pen that was closest to him.

And, very slowly, and clearly without realizing what she was doing, Sophia toddled toward the newly chosen "Daddy" side of the pen.

Carol sucked in a breath, hard, and Daryl smiled without attempting to hide it.

"Shhh…Mama…" he said, his voice as soothing as it ever had been before. "Shhh…Mama. Let's just—see what she can do…" Daryl changed his voice, then, from the very soft tone to the one he more commonly used with Sophia. "You like him, don't'cha? You like havin' a lil' friend? Huh? Yeah you do, sweetheart. He's gonna stay with you, too. In your lil' pen. So, you don't never get lonely in there. Long as you love on him, he'll be a good lil' friend in your pen…right? Yeah…sweetheart…" Daryl crawled carefully around to the other side. Carol watched him making his slow circle. As he moved, Sophia turned on her feet like she'd been doing this for a while. Carol wondered if they'd simply missed it before or if she really had been holding out on out of simple insecurity for a long time. Sophia toddled a couple of steps toward the new location where Daryl stopped.

"Daryl…" Carol said, practically feeling like her chest would explode over the fact that her baby girl was taking her first steps—or at least what she knew to be her first steps—right that moment.

"I know, Mama," Daryl said. "But the first rule of not scarin' nothin' away is not makin' no unexpected noises."

"She's not a deer, Daryl," Carol offered.

There must have been something that came across in her voice though—whether it was frustration at Daryl or overwhelm at the thought that Sophia was taking a few steps on her own—because Sophia tried to turn quickly to see what had put that sound in her mother's voice. And, when she did, she fell practically face first onto her mattress, dropped her lamb, and launched into the most pitiful wail she had let out since she'd first been forced to sit on her bottom in the lonely pen.

She was tired, so instead of simply trying to go at it again—and instead of simply reaching for the lamb she seemed quite grieved to have lost—she scrubbed her face against the mattress and kicked it a time or two in desperation.

Daryl rescued her from her misery by scooping her up and, bringing the lamb with them, hugging her against his chest. He offered her the lamb back and she slowly got her tears under control before wiping her nose dramatically on Daryl's shirt and resting her head against his chest.

"I hear ya, I'll hold you 'til you go to sleep," Daryl offered.

"I'm sorry," Carol said, sincerely meaning it. "I shouldn't have said anything."

Daryl laughed to himself and sat down on the bed. Slowly he worked his way into a comfortable position. Sophia was already half asleep on his chest, cuddling her lamb. She'd be asleep before he had the chance to get too comfortable, and then he'd be up again to return her to the pen. After a few times of waking up there safe, and seeing that her parents rescued her when she really needed to be rescued, she'd likely grow comfortable with the new space.

Carol watched them for a moment.

"Come here, Mama," Daryl said, holding his free arm out in her direction. "You look about as devastated as she was." 

"I ruined the whole thing," Carol offered. Daryl laughed to himself again.

"I got a good feelin' that it won't be the last time she walks. An' you ain't ruined nothin'. Because if you hadn't done what you done, I wouldn't get the chance to snuggle with you both to make both of you stop lookin' like it's the end of the world." He waved his hand at her again to urge her to come. "Come here," he said.

This time, Carol did what he asked. She moved beside him and laid down so that he could cuddle her against him with the arm she rested on. She rested her face against his chest, and she rested her hand on Sophia's back. She closed her eyes, feeling Daryl's breathing and listening to his heartbeat and the sound of Sophia's breathing as it evened out. She realized, slowly, that she wouldn't be too far behind her daughter in falling asleep.

The last thing she remembered was Daryl patting her affectionately with his hand and, after a deep sigh, practically breathing out quiet words to try to comfort her as surely as he comforted Sophia.

"You ain't ruined nothin', woman," he promised. "I couldn't think of nothin' better."


	58. Chapter 58

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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As soon as Sophia discovered her mobility, there was no stopping her and there was very little slowing her down. She fought against the wrap with everything she had unless she was already tired out from any and everything she'd found to keep her attention. A week of getting to know her pen, and she'd come to accept the space and even look forward to it. She would run around the small space and dance in it a great deal to burn off the excess energy that she had.

She was, at least, a quiet baby. Carol didn't know if her quietness was owing to her personality, or if it was a product of somehow knowing that she needed to be quiet, but Sophia was usually content to be relatively silent unless there was something that was truly bothering her. If she wasn't hurt, wet, or hungry, though, she would remain as quiet as they could possibly ask of a newly minted toddler.

Carol did her best to keep Sophia changed as quickly as she realized it was necessary, and fed even before she realized she was hungry. It was the only way that she could ensure that her daughter didn't inconvenience anyone in the group.

For the next few weeks, as they travelled, Carol noticed some of the repercussions of the discussion that Daryl had with Rick. She noticed a few changes that rippled through the group. She noticed, too, that the small changes sometimes seemed to irritate Rick and, from time to time, something like his temper would flare up and he would begin to try to buck the newly created system.

And, when he did, Daryl would usually disappear with him—some distance from the rest of them—and have a conversation. When they would return, Rick's temper would seem to at least be in check even if his jaw remained clenched.

Hershel had told Carol some of the vague details of what had happened between Daryl and Rick, but he'd decided to keep most of the finer points a secret. Daryl, too, had only shared the basic information. The gist of it was that Daryl thought the group ought to be fairer. Everyone was part of the group and everyone should pull their weight—though it would be easy to argue that didn't always happen—and as part of the group, everyone should get their fair share of everything that the group came to claim as property.

There was very little time for discussions of equality and dislike of the way things were when the equilibrium shifted, though. There was very little time for anything as they moved nearly every day and searched for something that Carol worried, more and more each day, they were never going to find. They didn't discuss that either, though.

In fact, for weeks, she felt like she only ever even said the basics to Daryl or anyone else. They said only information that had to be said to keep everyone alive and moving toward a goal that they may never reach.

They stopped at sundown, spent time making camp, traded off watch, slept what little time they could, and packed up with the rising sun to move on again. They were so tired, and so focused, that even the time they spent in the truck was quiet between Carol and Daryl. When they did speak, it was only to discuss Sophia or some other important aspect of their survival. It wasn't that the silence between them was strained or uncomfortable—it was nothing of the like—it was that they were both so tired that words seemed like a great deal of effort and, between the two of them, words were really unnecessary.

Occasionally, if they scraped up enough effort and enthusiasm, and if they were able to get Sophia down to sleep and they were both off watch, and if they were both willing to give up a little of their precious sleep, they made love to each other in whatever room or corner of a barn that they called their own. It was usually quick and gentle and something that required none of the strength and energy that neither of them had to offer. But Carol valued it, immensely, when it happened. She relished falling asleep with the feeling of Daryl's presence inside her still lingering on her nerve endings and the feeling of him wrapped around her lulling her off to sleep.

It wasn't until they were all almost to the point of collapse—with tempers starting to rise from the lack of time to rest and regroup—that they decided to find a place that was safe enough to put down camp for a couple of nights and let everyone get some rest while they revisited their thoughts about what they were looking for and what they could work with.

Carol was so happy for the prospective break that she was looking forward to two days in the farmhouse they found like it was a tropical vacation. The first thing she did was settle Sophia into her pen, and then she set about making a fire with the wood that T-Dog and Glenn collected for her while Beth and Maggie went for water nearby—the water being the primary reason they'd chosen this particular location to allow them to catch their breath.

"I wish I could help," Lori said almost mournfully as Carol arranged sticks to ensure the best fire that she could get out of the wood that was slowly arriving to her in armfuls.

"You can unpack the cars," Carol offered.

"Rick would prefer that I didn't," Lori said. "I had a few scares for false labor with Carl. If anything were to happen, there wouldn't be anything we could do about it now."

"False labor is just that," Carol said. She wasn't feeling particularly charitable at the moment. She was feeling sweaty from her work, tired from the practically unending nature of her work, a little hungry, and a little thirsty. "When I was pregnant with Sophia I—had an accident. There was some bleeding. Lots of concern. But nothing happened. At the end of it all, that was the part that was the most important—nothing happened."

"Sophia's perfect," Lori offered.

"Carl is too," Carol said. "And this baby will be, too. So, if you want to help by bringing me the trash bag of dirty laundry out of your car…" Carol stopped. She didn't even finish the request. Lori didn't make the fire because she never arranged the wood properly and, despite being told a thousand times how to do it, she never understood. She didn't wash the clothes because bending so long was uncomfortable when her body was working to accommodate the baby and, even though Carol might have allowed her that as a reasonable argument, there was no position they could create for her to scrub the clothes and sit comfortably.

It was hard for Carol to stomach most of Lori's excuses. She'd cleaned the house the day that Sophia was born—after she'd realized that she was in labor—because she knew that she'd be gone for a while to give birth and she knew how her husband would react if he felt the house wasn't clean.

Meanwhile, by Carol's calculations, they were just starting Lori's third trimester and were considerably close to Lori requiring that Carol brush her teeth for her because she tired too quickly from performing the action herself.

She was anemic, she said. The baby was too large and heavy for her delicate frame, she said, though in her own words. She was afraid of inducing premature labor, though she hadn't really given any clear indication as to why she thought that was such an ever-present threat. She was exhausted from the low quantity of food and limited rest. She was barely surviving, really, to hear her speak.

Carol walked from vehicle to vehicle, heaved up the three trash bags full of clothes, and tossed them over her shoulder. Leaning forward so they wouldn't topple her backward, she carried the heavy bags close to the fire. When Glenn was able, he would bring her the two metal tubs from the back of their storage truck and she'd fill them water to wash and rinse the clothes. The antique scrub board she'd found, truly, was one of her prized possessions these days.

Maggie would offer to help, but Carol would put her to work cleaning dishes and putting things away aft their meal, just in case something forced them to move quickly during the night. She'd put T-Dog and Glenn to work cleaning the house and carrying things inside—divvying up the space as best they could so that everyone could have a comfortable room. Hershel would make sure the latrine was dug, the clothesline was hung, and he would help Daryl clean whatever meat he found for their food. Beth would watch Sophia, giving Carol her hands free to clean the clothes and handle her other innumerable chores.

Rick would pace and snort and check maps they'd seen a thousand times. He'd walk the perimeter and kick the dirt around and pretend that he was doing something helpful for their future and Carl would follow him and learn how to be a great and powerful leader like his father.

And Lori would sit near Carol and lament that she couldn't do more to help and declare that her guilt over not being able to do more than gestate was eating her alive.

Carol's predictions were not wrong, either.

By the time she'd warmed water up to fill the tubs and started scrubbing in one, Daryl was returning with the fruits of his hunt—more than enough food for a decent dinner and breakfast if no one was overly piggish—and Hershel settled in to help him prepare the food so that it could be cooked. With the need for more water seemingly never ending with the amount of cooking and cleaning that needed to be done, and with the idea that they would need to replenish their drinking water and have bathing water, every free hand was hauling water.

Carol continued her scrubbing because her job was clear.

And Lori sat near her.

"You can pass it to me," Lori said. "I can wring it out."

Carol bit her tongue. The comment she thought of making about Lori's unending generosity and helpfulness probably wouldn't sit well.

She accepted the little bit of help for what it was.

"Can I ask you something?" Lori asked. Again, Carol bit back her desire to point out that Lori was going to ask it anyway. They weren't escaping each other's company at the moment. She hummed at her instead. "I haven't asked you before, but—it's been on my mind. Daryl told Rick that…you might be pregnant."

Carol stopped washing for a moment. Her stomach knotted uncomfortably in surprise at the words. Her guts untangled themselves almost immediately, though, and she returned to scrubbing the clothes.

"I'm not in charge of what Daryl says to Rick," Carol offered.

"But are you?" Lori asked. "You aren't…are you?"

The way that she asked it struck Carol almost as much as the question had.

"I don't think so," Carol said. "I mean—I guess…maybe I'm not certain but…I don't think so."

"Good," Lori breathed out, clearly quite relieved with Carol's response.

Carol furrowed her brow at the woman who was almost the only female friend, no matter how loosely she had to use that term some days, that she had left. Both of the Greene girls—even though Maggie was much older than her sister—were a little too removed from Carol's life experiences to really want to see her as a friend.

"Why would that be good?" Carol asked.

"You want to be pregnant?" Lori asked.

"Well—no," Carol said.

Lori shrugged her shoulders as if to say that Carol had answered her own question.

"Being pregnant right now is no picnic," Lori said. "Especially if—if we're not able to find something."

"Well we'd be much more likely to find something if you were a little less picky about what we find," Carol said.

Lori looked like she might be angry for a second, but she swallowed it down and accepted the next rolled up item of dripping clothing that Carol passed her.

"We're trying to find something that will be good for all of us," Lori said.

"I know that," Carol said. "But you can have fast or you can have perfect. I don't think you can choose both." She sighed. "Still—I know it's probably a worry for you. I know that you worry about everything when you're expecting a baby. You just—want everything to be right."

"Meat'll be ready to cook soon," Daryl gruffed in Carol's direction. He came from behind them and Carol jumped because she hadn't expected it. She might also be concerned that he'd overheard their conversation, but Daryl had generally very little interest in what he called "woman-talk." He stopped near them, though, and stared at Carol with concern on his features. "You OK?" He asked.

"Fine," Carol said. "You're a mess," she teased. He was bloody from carrying back the field-dressed kill and cleaning it. He hummed.

"Me an' Hershel gonna take soap down. Clean up."

"Bring your clothes back," Carol said. "I'll get them washed."

"Ain't no hurry," Daryl offered. He glanced at Lori, didn't say anything else, and then he disappeared, walking off in the same direction as everyone who had gone to get water before.

"You should really be glad you're not pregnant," Lori mused a few moments after Daryl and Hershel had started their walk toward the water. The comment struck Carol, hard, because all at once she understood it. She kept control of herself, though, because she refused to start something. She refused to be the person that Rick could quote as some kind of troublemaker in the camp.

"Don't get me wrong," Carol said, "I'm glad I'm not pregnant right now because I have my hands full with Sophia and taking care of everything in this group that nobody else seems able to handle…"

"I wish I could…"

"If wishes were horses then beggars would ride," Carol said quickly. "I won't say that nothing's stopping you from doing what I do around here because I'm not your doctor and I don't know what you can and can't do. I'm glad I'm not pregnant—if I'm not pregnant—because this isn't the best time for me to be pregnant. But that's the only reason. It's not Daryl—like you seem to think."

"I didn't say…" Lori started.

"No, you didn't say," Carol interrupted. "But I heard you, loud and clear."

"It's just that he's…" 

"Not Rick and he's not Shane and you don't approve," Carol said. She laughed to herself. "Maybe I'm glad that you don't approve. At least I can rest easy at night without worry about…" She let it drop. She scolded herself for what she'd thought and what she was about to say.

"Go ahead," Lori said, a hint of challenge in her voice. "Without worrying about what, Carol? I never did anything that you can swear you wouldn't have done in my place."

"You do what's best for you," Carol offered. "And I'll do what's best for me. That's how we'll know we'll always have peace."

"Any concern I have about you with Daryl is for your own good," Lori said. "For the good of Sophia. You've seen how he can be when he's angry. You know what he's capable of."

"I know what every man's capable of," Carol offered. "Probably better than you do."

"What's stopping him from turning on you one day?" Lori asked. "On Sophia?"

Carol laughed to herself. She hummed.

"I would stop him if he tried to turn on Sophia," Carol said. "I know that now. I don't guess anything would stop him if he tried to turn on me. Nothing ever stopped Ed. But I don't believe he will. I trust him. And I trust my instinct. That's got to be enough for me." She looked at Lori and she smiled. "People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. And if I have to—I'll stop you from hurting him. So—don't hurt him."

"I didn't…" Lori started.

"You didn't mean anything," Carol finished for her. "Except what you did mean. I'm glad I'm not pregnant. Not right now. Because I have too much to do and it would be too hard. But it isn't because of Daryl. I would be the mother to his children, gladly, any day." She smiled to herself and shrugged her shoulders. "As far as he's concerned, I already am. And that's good enough for me." She handed Lori another dripping garment. "Daryl's good enough for me, understood?"

Lori took the garment. She looked thoroughly chastised, and Carol remembered more than one time when Andrea had come after Lori for something insensitive that she'd said. For a flitting moment, Carol missed the companionship of the blonde and felt a twinge of mourning at her loss. Maybe Andrea had left something behind for her. After all, she felt a boldness bubbling in her belly at the moment that she hadn't felt in a very long time.

And maybe Lori could sense it.

"Understood," Lori said quietly.

"Good," Carol said. "Now—once you get those wrung out, you can hang that pile on the line. It'll be good for your circulation."


	59. Chapter 59

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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They had a bedroom to themselves—mostly to keep Sophia from inconveniencing everyone else—and the moment that Sophia had been put, asleep, into her pen, they had made love—twice. They always made love twice if the were really committed to it beyond the quick couplings that took place when they were both too exhausted for any of the pomp and circumstance that could surround lovemaking.

When Carol had first married Ed, she'd daydreamed that what they did was lovemaking. That was what people in love did, after all, and she'd loved Ed when she'd married him. The idea of love making, however, had quickly died out for Carol and, later, she'd wondered if Ed had ever really loved her at all. She wondered if it was possible to really know.

When Daryl made love to her, though, she knew it.

Without any doubt, she knew what was happening between them. Beyond the physical—which was always good, though she would admit that both of them probably lacked something by textbook standards—the emotional experience of being with Daryl made it clear to her that this was love. This was what being loved felt like.

She loved him and he loved her. They were together. Nothing else really mattered.

And whenever Daryl felt inadequate because he'd never been with anyone else, and they hadn't been together in a while because everything had drained them of their energy and stripped them of time, and things had happened quicker than he wanted them to happen, Carol reassured him that he was the greatest lover that she'd ever had. He was the greatest lover that she could imagine having. She wouldn't want anyone else.

Tonight, that concern had reared its head, though not as fiercely as it sometimes did, and Carol had reassured Daryl several times over while he'd gently washed her clean—as he insisted that he be allowed to do—with the cool water leftover from their bath.

Her reassurances had lasted until he'd come back to bed. They'd lasted, as well, until he'd gotten up to check on Sophia one last time and then returned to hold Carol near him again.

Carol didn't mind reassuring him a thousand times because, when she needed it, he offered her the same patient care.

"Daryl…" Carol said quietly when silence had settled around them. He hummed. It wasn't dismissive. It was simply his way of saying that he was listening when he didn't feel the need to put energy behind words. "Lori—talked to me today. She said that you told Rick I might be pregnant." Daryl hummed again.

"I did," he said, after a second, apparently deciding Carol might want more than a series of sounds with which to have a conversation.

"Why?" Carol asked. "Daryl—I don't think I'm pregnant," she added quickly.

Daryl hummed.

"I don't think I thought you were pregnant," Daryl said. Carol almost laughed, in spite of herself, because it genuinely sounded like the first time that he'd thought about it. "I didn't tell Rick you were pregnant. I said you might be pregnant. Could be pregnant. Somethin'—same thing."

"But why?" Carol asked, sitting up on her elbow a little. Daryl probably couldn't see her because it was dark since he'd blown out their lamp and she really couldn't see him, but he'd sense her movement at the very least. He hummed again.

"Because Rick don't seem to respect shit except pregnant women," Daryl said flatly. "Sophia's like a whole ass kid—like she's got a whole personality and everything. Rick don't respect that. You're a whole damn woman. Every part of you is all woman an'…they're pretty nice parts, too. If I say so myself, but Rick don't respect that shit either. The only damn thing I hear from him all the time, it seems, is how damn much Lori needs 'cause she's pregnant. So, I figure that's the only thing that he knows. You know? It's the only thing he respects. It sure ain't the woman and it ain't the kid—so it's gotta be the part where she's pregnant."

"I think it might be more the part where—it's his wife," Carol pointed out gently. "Because he's just as protective of Carl."

"And that's why I told him I was just as protective of what's mine," Daryl said blankly. "And if he needed more damn information or more reason to respect what I wanted, then he might as well know you might be pregnant."

"But I'm not…" Carol offered.

"But you might be," Daryl said, "and that ought to be enough for him." Daryl shifted around in the darkness. Carol could see enough of his outline to see that he sat up. The darkness of his figure loomed darker and more solid than the dark surrounding him. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Carol, because I don't pretend that I know everything about the way that these things work, but what we just did—what I just cleaned off your legs and everything—leaves behind somethin' of me in you. And that somethin', if it mixes with the somethin' you already got, can like sprout. Grow into a baby. And if that happens, then you're pregnant. Right? Or did I miss some all-important chapter on how the hell this baby thing happens?"

Carol laughed to herself at Daryl's tone of voice. There was an urgency there that came from him wanting to clear anything up that might cause conflict, but there was also a certain sense of teasing and humor.

"Well—you're right, I guess," Carol said.

"You don't know how babies are made either?" Daryl said. This time there was a heaping amount of teasing in his voice. "You just guessing?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"What you have mixes with what I have and, sometimes, that makes a baby," Carol echoed. "That's pretty much the gist of it. But it hasn't made a baby."

"Do you get like a—like a warning the moment it does?" Daryl asked. "Like a microwave goin' off?"

Carol laughed.

"No," she said.

"Then how the hell do you know? We just finished. That mighta made a baby. What we done this morning mighta made a baby."

"OK—but—I wouldn't just count on it," Carol said.

"I'm not," Daryl said. There was a hint of frustration in his voice then. "I'm just sayin' that you might be pregnant and neither me nor you nor Rick's got any way to discredit that all the time. So—you deserve the same damn respect as Lori 'cause we ain't fuckin' up my kid to suit his kid just 'cause we don't know if my kid is there or not. I'm tryin' to put this shit into terms that I think Rick can understand."

Carol laughed quietly to herself. There was some teasing in Daryl's words. He wanted to diffuse the situation if there was anything to diffuse, but there was also a hint of sincerity there. He thought Rick was someone who was incapable of understanding his stance on things—the stance that everyone mattered just as much as everyone else to someone in the group and, therefore, they should all be treated justly—and he was trying to break that idea down into chunks that a veritable caveman might be able to chew up and digest.

"I guess—what I want to know is—is that something you want?" Carol asked. Her stomach churned when her mouth formed the question and released it into the atmosphere for Daryl to deal with.

"You mean—what exactly do you mean?" Daryl asked. "Is—which part—is it somethin' I want?"

"Me to be pregnant," Carol amended. "Is that…is it something you would want?"

"I love you," Daryl said simply.

Carol laughed to herself.

"I love you," she said. "But—that's not what I asked."

"If you were pregnant," Daryl said, "then that's what the hell I'd want you to be."

"And if I'm not?" Carol asked.

"Then there's nothin' to want 'cause you ain't pregnant," Daryl said.

"Would you want me to—get pregnant?" Carol asked.

"What exactly do you want to know from me?" Daryl asked. "Because—I'm tired and I get the feeling there's a real specific answer that you're wantin' from me, but I don't know what it is. So—if you got somethin' you want me to say, then why don't you just put it out there and then I'll just tell you if it's a yeah or a no?"

"I haven't had anything even remotely related to a reliable period since Sophia was born," Carol said.

"OK," Daryl said blankly.

"I don't know what that means, exactly," Carol said, "but it may mean that—maybe I can't have anymore babies. Maybe I can't get pregnant anymore."

"So, then you wouldn't be pregnant," Daryl said. "But you still—you still might be. I mean all the pieces are there, and Rick don't need to know more than that."

"I'm not talking about Rick anymore," Carol said.

"Then what are we talking about, exactly?" Daryl asked.

"I'm talking about us," Carol said. "I'm not mad that you told Rick what you told him. I understand why you told him that. And, basically? I told Lori the same thing. Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. But that doesn't mean that…"

"Don't mean what?" Daryl asked.

"I'm not talking about Rick," Carol said, "but it's been on my mind since I talked to Lori. If my period has stopped—Sophia might have been like my one shot. My one chance at having a baby."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"If she's your one chance," Daryl said, "then I'd say she's a bullseye."

"Would you want me to have your baby?" Carol asked. "Your biological baby," she amended quickly, knowing that Daryl was extremely touchy about anyone saying that Sophia wasn't "his" when he'd claimed her.

"I mean—yeah?" Daryl said. Carol's stomach flipped. "Shit—can I throw in the towel or…or tag out or somethin'? I don't fuckin' know what we're talkin' about anymore."

Carol swallowed against the lump in her throat that was forming as her gut told her body to be upset—to be worried.

"What do you want?" Carol asked.

"What do you mean?" Daryl asked. "Right now, all the hell I want is to know what the hell we're really talkin' about and what the hell you want me to say. But that won't be the same damn thing I want once we go to sleep."

"What kind of family do you want?" Carol asked. "What does—your perfect family look like?"

"That a trick question?" Daryl asked in the darkness. He shifted around and Carol felt him leave the bed. She heard him tripping his fingers across the surface of the nightstand. She watched his dark figure walking around the dark room and she heard a muttered curse as he apparently stubbed his toe on something. She saw him when he found the window—a little more illuminated by what the light the moon and stars offered. She heard him slide the window up and she watched the flame of his lighter appear before the tip of a cigarette glowed orange in the dark. "I don't like trick questions, Carol, and I don't like riddles."

Carol shifted around to sit on the edge of the bed and face him.

"I don't mean for it to be a trick," Carol said. "Just—what do you want? In a family. What's the dream that you have? What have you always wanted?"

Daryl was quiet long enough that Carol might have believed he disappeared entirely if it weren't for the glow of the cigarette.

"Only damn thing I always wanted was—love," Daryl said. "Someone to love. Someone to love me back. Someone who—stays. Forever."

Carol's stomach tightened at the emotion that his words stirred up in her.

"I love you," she offered softly. "Sophia loves you."

Daryl laughed quietly.

"I love y'all," he said. "And—and I guess this might be what you're asking, but…if there was another kid? I'd love it, too. I don't think I'd run outta love or nothin'."

"And if there wasn't?" Carol asked.

"It ain't like I can love somethin' that ain't there," Daryl said.

"But you would want it?" Carol asked. "Would it—be something you missed having in your life?"

"You can't miss what you ain't never had," Daryl said. "It isn't really like I can miss a kid that don't exist."

"Would you miss the experience?" Carol asked.

"What do you mean?" Daryl asked.

"The whole—I'm pregnant and it's yours and…then it's born," Carol sighed and laughed to herself. "Maybe I don't even know what I mean," she admitted. "None of it really thrilled Ed that much. He thought it would. He thought that's what he wanted, but then when I was actually pregnant, he didn't seem to want it that much. I guess—I just thought you'd be the kind of man that would probably enjoy that. All the little things."

"I'd love anything that you an' me did together," Daryl said after a minute. "And—if you were to get pregnant, then I'd love that, too. But…"

"But?" Carol urged when he fell quiet.

"But if you're askin' me—if it's what you're askin' me—if that's like a deal breaker, Carol? Is that what you're askin' me?" Daryl asked.

"I think—maybe it is," Carol said. "What I'm asking, I mean. If I couldn't—would it be wrong of me to keep you from…finding that?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I won't point out the obvious that the whole damn world is dead," Daryl said. "Because I think that you could take that shit wrong. And if I stewed on it too damn long, I could hurt my own feelings overthinking that shit. So—I won't go that route. But what I do say—what I'm going to say—I want you to listen to. OK? You listenin' to me?" Carol laughed to herself and hummed at him. "Ears wide open?" He asked, his voice gravelly when he tried to keep it so low. She hummed again. "I love you. First and foremost. I love you. I love—this. And I love Sophia. And maybe it's wrong to rank them loves and maybe I can't 'cause they just different. But that's what it is. I love you an' I love Sophia. And I've never even known that shit before in my life. So, if we never—never, never, never—was to change the way things are? I'd keep on bein' in love with you an' Sophia an' what the hell we got here. But—and I'm just sayin' it as a but—if we was to have a baby or ten or twenty or whatever the hell was to happen? I guess I'd adapt. And I'd love them too. But if you askin' me if this is a deal breaker? The only deal breaker is whatever the hell takes away what I already got."

Carol smiled to herself.

"I think I understand," she said.

"Was that the answer you were lookin' for?" Daryl asked.

"I think—more than that? It was the answer I was hoping for," Carol said.

"Good," Daryl said simply. "Gotta get some sleep. I wanna head out no later than sun-up."

"We have meat for breakfast," Carol said.

"But we don't got none for lunch or supper," Daryl said. "And everybody's gotta eat if I don't wanna have to fight Rick over scraps."

Carol laughed to herself.

"You'd fight Rick over scraps?" She mused.

Daryl laughed and snubbed out his cigarette on the windowsill before closing the window.

"For you and Sophia?" He responded. "I'd break his nose over the last of the food. Is it safe to come back to bed now?" He teased.

Carol moved over, so he wouldn't have to make the trip around the room.

"Come here," Carol said. "We'll trade sides. I'll let you get some sleep—so nobody has to get a broken nose."

Daryl laughed, but he did slide into bed. Carol didn't protest when he trapped her in his arms. Instead, she moved, and he loosened his grip just a little to let her get comfortable, until she could settle in against him.

"Daryl?" She said softly when he snuggled in tight against her. He hummed at her. "If I were to get pregnant, I would be happy to have your baby. Your biological baby."

"Good," Daryl said.

"Because I love you, too." Carol offered.

"I know," Daryl said.

"And I know you'd be a wonderful daddy," Carol said. "Because you already are. Sophia told me."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"She did, huh?" He mused. "Some trick since all the hell she can say is 'Ma,' 'Da,' and 'Milk' that anybody can understand."

"I think," Carol said, "that says it all. She knows, already, the most important things in her world. That's pretty high praise from a baby. And she isn't wrong at all."

"Shhh," Daryl hissed quietly in her ear. He rubbed his hands over her, soothingly, where they landed while he held her. "Sleep, woman."

Carol smiled to herself and closed her eyes. She rooted a little deeper into the bed and Daryl wrapped his arms a little tighter around her. She took his advice. She did sleep, and she enjoyed every one of the sweet dreams that she reveled in until Sophia called her to wake in time to get Daryl stirring for his early breakfast.


	60. Chapter 60

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"You like that? Huh, sweetheart?"

Daryl crumbled off pieces of the food in between his fingers. He had barely more than a couple of crumbs that would stick to his fingertip, and he rested his finger against the baby's outstretched tongue. She licked the crumbs off and panted in happiness at the taste. She bounced with her hands on the side of her little pen and growled at Daryl. He laughed to himself. The growl was the request for more and he crumbled a bit more of the food into his plate, dabbed some crumbs onto his fingertip again, and offered them out for her to lick.

She was far more enthusiastic about Daryl's newly created treat than she had been about the banana flavored baby food that she'd vomited all down Daryl's shirt as a critique of his choice of breakfast.

Her mother was asleep and, for just this one time, Daryl wanted to let her sleep as long as her body could possibly allow.

He'd snuck out, before the sun came up, with Sophia in tow. He'd done everything he could to leave the room, in a few quick and quiet trips, with everything she'd require throughout the morning. He'd left a note, written on a napkin by the bed, so that Carol wouldn't panic. He'd escaped—through all of that—without waking Carol who had been sleeping soundly, clearly overcome with exhaustion.

Sophia, as a baby, was destined to be a horrible hunting partner—or at least he'd prepared for her to be a horrible hunting partner—but she'd actually gone back to sleep as soon as he'd changed her, given her a little of the powdered formula they had found, mixed with warmed up water, to suck on while he drank some coffee, and wrapped her securely to him in a wrap.

She'd missed the excitement of the hunt that had taken them only about a mile from where they were camping. She'd missed the excitement of Daryl dropping the two raccoons who had been doing their best to get home after a long night of doing whatever the hell their little nocturnal asses did. She'd missed him field dressing them while she snuggled into his back and snored quietly. She'd missed the slow, ambling walk back to camp.

She'd only woken, again, as they'd neared the camp and started to protest that she really did hate being forced to drink the powdered formula—something she only had to take when there was some reason that Carol was too preoccupied to feed her—and her hunger wasn't nearly as quelled as she liked. Daryl had strung up the raccoons and left them to drain while he'd gone about trying to find her breakfast.

The breakfast she'd finally preferred was something that he'd whipped up because everyone else in their camp was still sleeping, and he was sure that they'd want something to eat when they woke up. The breakfast that Sophia preferred was something that he'd just made out of a little of this and a little of that as an experiment. The cakes—distantly based on the hoe cakes he remembered his mother making when he was a child—were hearty and thick and, Daryl hoped, could be wrapped up to serve them later. If everyone approved of them, they'd be perfect for stretching ingredients and packing food for the road.

And, beyond that, they could give Carol a bit of a break from doing the cooking and the laundry and boiling the water at every stop.

He hadn't really expected that Sophia would like them.

Still, she'd accepted most of the jar of banana food that Daryl had fed her from their supplies, and she hadn't complained about it beyond making the occasional face of being unsure whether or not she enjoyed it. Sophia was a baby who really enjoyed her food, though, so Daryl didn't take it personally that she was behaving as something of a connoisseur and really trying to decide if she approved of the banana flavored breakfast.

What he hadn't expected, though, was that her harshest critique of the food would come about halfway through the jar when she, apparently, realized that she greatly disapproved of the flavor he'd chosen. Without warning, she'd launched into a truly pathetic cry and, when he'd hugged her to him to try to soothe her and figure out what was wrong with her, she'd emptied her stomach entirely of the offending contents by puking it down the front of Daryl's shirt.

Then Sophia had commenced to crying even more pathetically than before while Daryl had cleaned both of them up.

She had no milk. She hadn't even tasted her mother's milk since some time in the night. She'd been forced to eat formula to hold off what she'd likely believed was starvation, and then she'd been fed a horrible banana concoction that she'd thrown up all over the man she pitifully identified as "Da" the whole time that he cleaned her up.

She accepted the second offering of formula that he made for her, but she made it clear that she did not like it. She paused in her sucking, every few minutes, to frown sincerely at him and cry a little before she accepted the nipple back.

It was, in that moment, that Daryl realized, even more sincerely than before, how very important it was that they keep Carol well-fed and healthy enough to continue to provide nourishment for Sophia. She could survive a morning of this to give her mother the opportunity to sleep in and get some much-needed rest—probably for the first time since the CDC—but they couldn't live like this.

Daryl couldn't live like this.

When Sophia was even remotely satisfied, Daryl had put her in the pen with her lamb to keep her company and he'd worked on his breakfast cakes. He'd wrapped them—two by two—in towels and cloths that he'd found in their storage truck, and he'd tied them up for people to eat as needed.

Daryl was sampling one of his own cakes while he worked at preparing more, to make sure that they even passed his test for food. They were nutritious—and Daryl knew that from the ingredients—and they were very filling. They were heavy, even, but that meant that a little bit would go a long way. In addition, they were pretty tasty.

He hadn't really intended for Sophia to eat the cakes, but he'd used his finger to dab up some of the crumbs from the one he was working on and he'd touched the crumbs to her mouth as she'd eyed him angrily over the top of her pen and complained to him—with words he would absolutely never understand, he was sure—that she was miserable, he was the cause of her misery, and nothing in her tiny life would ever be set right again.

The minute that she'd licked the crumbs off Daryl's finger, though, Sophia's attitude had changed slightly. She'd held her hand out to him in request that he return his finger, and he was certain that she didn't want it returned clean.

So, one little taste at a time, she was eating the crumbs from the cake and doing a little dance for him where she alternated between shaking her bottom from side to side or bouncing up and down.

Honestly, Daryl didn't think it mattered what the rest of his group thought of his attempts at breakfast. There was no reaction that any of them could have that could really rival the dance that Sophia had choreographed in response to the food.

Hershel had been the first to wake. He'd thanked Daryl heartily for his offer of coffee and a cake that he ate off of one of the plates that they washed after every meal.

"It's almost like an oatmeal cookie," Hershel mused.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Without the bakin' and without quite so much sugar," Daryl said.

"Well, what are you going to call them?" Hershel asked.

"Oatmeal cookies?" Daryl asked. "That'd get people's hopes up too much. Based 'em off a hoe cake idea, but they ain't hoe cakes."

"Dada!" Sophia demanded, reminding Daryl that she was waiting for her next fingerful of crumbs. He dabbed up some crumbs and offered them to the little girl who happily accepted them and, as well, accepted that he practically forced her to suck down a little water from the baby bottle that he'd filled with water.

"What about daddy cakes, then?" Hershel asked with a laugh. "Sophia seems to approve."

Daryl smiled to himself.

"I guess that'd be OK," Daryl said with a shrug. "Mostly it don't matter what people call 'em if they keep 'em from starvin' an' let Carol sleep every now and again. She's exhausted."

"She needs some rest," Hershel said. "We all do. Real rest. The kind of security that comes from knowing we can sleep at night without worrying that something's going to happen as soon as we close our eyes."

Daryl's chest ached.

"I wanna find a place," Daryl said. "Somethin' like the farm. Better than the farm. I wanna give Sophia somewhere she can run and play. Wanna give Carol somewhere she can really rest."

"We all want that," Hershel said. "It wouldn't hurt any of us to find that. Somewhere settled would mean routine, too, and that might mean a few hands were free to help Carol out a bit more instead of having to dedicate so much time to doing and redoing the same chores—like finding water or firewood. Digging latrines and hanging clotheslines."

"Wouldn't fuckin' hurt if there were more hands dedicated to doin' shit that mattered," Daryl grumbled.

Hershel laughed to himself and helped himself to more coffee. He poured more into Daryl's cup, as well, and set about the work involved to make another pot over the flames that he had already fed with a few more sticks of wood from their pile.

"That wouldn't hurt any of us," Hershel mused.

"Can I ask you somethin'?" Daryl asked. "And you answer me with honesty?"

"Son—I'm not in the habit of giving dishonest answers to any question," Hershel mused. Daryl realized that it didn't bother him at all that Hershel called him "son"—and absolutely not like it bothered him that Rick called him "brother" from time to time.

"You care if I ask you a couple things?" Daryl asked.

Hershel took another bite of his breakfast and washed it down with a mouthful of coffee.

"Anyone who makes me a breakfast like this can ask me what they want," Hershel said with a laugh. "This is good coffee."

"Drink all you want," Daryl said. "I found it."

Hershel hummed his thanks.

"What would you like to know?"

"It's gonna sound odd, maybe," Daryl said.

"Questions sometimes do," Hershel ceded.

"You think there's any reason that Carol couldn't have no other babies if she was wanting to?" Daryl asked bluntly.

Hershel looked shocked, but the shock only registered for half a second before he clearly turned to contemplating his answer over another bite of breakfast.

"I don't see why not," Hershel said. "She doesn't seem old enough for menopause—unless it's come early for her. Sophia seems quite healthy."

"So, it don't mean, because she ain't pregnant already, that she won't never ever be pregnant?" Daryl asked, dropping his voice.

Hershel shrugged his shoulders.

"Of course, I could examine her to have a more exact answer," Hershel said. "But—without doing that, I can only assume that there's no reason, that I know of, to expect that. Her body needs to heal from having Sophia. Her body weight has dropped way down even since the farm. All of these are things that could cause her body to delay pregnancy, but that doesn't mean that she couldn't ever get pregnant under the right circumstances. Is that a concern for her?"

"Might be," Daryl said. He shrugged his shoulders. "We talked about it. I told her I don't care one way or the other. I mean—I'd like it if she wanted more babies, but I'd be just fine if she don't. Still, she seemed kind of sad about it. I think I'd want for her to have whatever she wanted."

"As I said, I could have a more exact answer, maybe, if I examined her," Hershel said.

"Maybe later," Daryl offered. "I'll bring it up to her when it doesn't seem so fresh."

Hershel hummed his agreement and fixed himself a bit more coffee as the fresh pot came to a boil. He offered some to Daryl, too, and Daryl accepted it for the solidarity that the old man seemed to find in sharing a meal.

"Don't say nothin' to Rick about her not bein' pregnant, though," Daryl said. "She could be—I mean—all the ingredients are there and that's all the hell that matters when it comes to Rick."

Hershel laughed to himself and shook his head like he was trying to shake thoughts out of it.

"I wouldn't dream of saying anything about to Rick—or anyone else, for that matter."

"Thanks," Daryl said quietly.

"Did you have something else on your mind, son?" Hershel asked.

"What?" Daryl asked.

"You said you might have more than one question for me," Hershel said. "I wondered if you had something else on your mind."

"I got a great many things on my mind," Daryl admitted with a quiet laugh. He offered Sophia a few more crumbs and the bottle of purified water, which she reluctantly sucked in place of the milk she was evidently dreaming of being offered, to wash it down. "But I'll settle for this—you're Lori's doctor, or the closest we've got now. Is there really any medical reason she can't be bothered to lift a finger around here?"

"She's likely anemic," Hershel said, "but then—most of us probably are. She's tired, I'm sure. Other than that, there's no absolute reason that I can say. Pregnant women, as a general rule, are not nearly as fragile as some would like to believe. I'm not her doctor, though. And, by that, I mean that I wasn't her doctor before. She tells me that she had a difficult pregnancy with Carl. She tells me that she had all kinds of restrictions put on her, by her real doctor, before all of this, if she were going to try to get pregnant again. Out here, if anything goes wrong, we're really at the mercy of nature. The best we can do is err on the side of caution."

Daryl hummed.

"Fine," he said. "I'll give 'em that she needs whatever we can give her. And I'll give 'em that she needs to take it easy. But what the hell the rest of us need is somewhere safe to build a life."

"Agreed," Hershel offered.

"And whether we find that premade or we build it, it's about time to stop wandering around and to settle in somewhere that's suitable," Daryl said.

"I would agree with that, as well," Hershel said.

"I'm glad to hear you say that," Daryl said. "I saw some signs this morning while I was out hunting. Wanna explore it. I'd appreciate your support in talkin' to Rick if it turns out to be even half of what the hell I'm hopin' it'll be."

Hershel poured both of them some more coffee, and Daryl laughed to himself. If it weren't decaf, he'd be so jittery that he wouldn't be able to sit still later. Still, it was good coffee and, despite its lack of caffeine, it did offer a certain something that simply made the morning feel better.

Daryl accepted the mug and offered Hershel another of the cakes that the old man had named Daddy Cakes.

"What did you find?" Hershel asked.

"Don't think I'm as crazy as I sound," Daryl said. "Hear me out, first. But—I found signs for a prison that's nearby."


	61. Chapter 61

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"It's overrun," Rick said, shaking his head as Daryl walked up from his inspection. Glenn remained behind with Rick, but T-Dog had accompanied Daryl on a long walk around the outside of the prison grounds.

"There's a hole in the back," Daryl said. "Somethin' knocked it down. I think that's how a lot are gettin' in."

"Why would they all want to go in there?" Rick asked. Daryl was certain it was rhetorical, but he decided to at least address it since he and T-Dog had already discussed the same thing.

"There's a lotta civilians in there," Daryl said. "Either they went in because they could smell the prisoners that was locked in there and couldn't get out, or they went in there because there was some kinda noise that just drew 'em in."

"We thought an alarm or something," T-Dog offered. "Doesn't matter what got them in there, it looks like most of them are stuck."

"Easier to get in than it is to get out where that wall is collapsed," Daryl said. "They can practically fall in from the outside, but they can't crawl back out."

"So that's it, then," Rick said. "The place is overrun."

"I don't know what the hell you're talkin' about," Daryl said. "So that's it? This is the safest damn place we gonna find. It was built to keep people in that they wanted to keep in and keep people out that they didn't want comin' in there to get others out. We won't find a single damned thing that's more secure. You oughta know that shit."

"But it belongs to the Walkers," Rick said. "There aren't enough of us to clear out that many bodies. We'd be overrun immediately. And we don't have enough ammunition to stand out here and pick them off one by one. Besides—shooting would just draw more of them."

"Maybe we sit down and we think about it," Daryl said, "but we don't give up that easy. I want this. The whole damn thing. And if I gotta put down a couple dozen Walkers to get it, then that's what the hell I'ma do."

Rick laughed to himself.

"It's more like a hundred Walkers. Just saying you want it doesn't mean that we can get it," Rick said. "We don't even have enough hands to attempt something like this."

"Then we stop countin' people out just because they got tits," Daryl said blankly. "We put guns in hands and we add Carol, Lori, Maggie, and Beth to our numbers."

"They can't shoot," Rick said.

"So we teach 'em enough to get us in the door," Daryl said.

"Shane already tried to teach them," Rick said.

"Shane dicked around with a couple guns for a couple days," Daryl said. "And Carol didn't go 'cause nobody could watch Sophia an' Lori ain't gone because of somethin', and Beth didn't go 'cause she was too young or something. Hershel can watch Sophia a couple hours. And before you even start any kinda shit about it, the kickback on a handgun ain't gonna hurt your wife or injure your kid or whatever."

"We don't have enough ammunition," Rick said. "Even if we had enough to clear this place or to teach them all how to shoot well enough to take out Walkers, we don't have enough for both."

"Are you just tryin' to shoot down everything I say?" Daryl asked. "Because if that's your mission, just let me know now. I'm startin' to think you don't want us to find somewhere safe."

"I want us to find somewhere safe," Rick said. "I'm just saying that this? This is not somewhere safe. This is a prison full of Walkers. It's a death trap, Daryl. A suicide mission."

"Wait," T-Dog said, interjecting into the conversation. "It doesn't have to be an all or nothing situation."

"What do you mean?" Rick asked.

Daryl and T-Dog had already discussed the prison and the challenges they would face in clearing the place. The walk around the prison had given them plenty of time to hash things out. They were able to discuss things as a conversation, as well, instead of making it seem like one of them was on trial for even suggesting that the location might still be the best possibility that they had in finding a safe place.

Daryl was more than happy to let T-Dog take the lead in presenting the information to Rick. He had a feeling, after all, that Rick might accept it from T-Dog a little bit better at the moment.

"I'm sure you know the way that a prison yard is set up," T-Dog said.

"I never worked at a prison this size," Rick said. "But I've got some idea."

"Lucky for you," Daryl offered, "we got some decent idea of how it's set up."

He swallowed back a smile at both Rick and T-Dog's expressions. Their expressions were very different, though both were amusing. And their expressions, he knew, were for very different reasons. Daryl offered nothing else on the matter, and neither did T-Dog, other than to explain the layout a little.

"There's a series of gates and fences," T-Dog said. "They separate the yard off into a number of different sections."

"It allows you to separate different prisoners that need to be separated out for whatever reason," Rick offered. "And it lets you lock down parts of the yard in a hurry in case something's going on. It keeps the prisoners divided."

"The same way it worked then," Daryl said, sensing that Rick was no longer on the offensive, "is how it can work our favor."

"We don't have to take the whole prison at once," T-Dog said. "We can take it piece by piece."

Rick looked back toward the prison yard that was crawling with Walkers. He crossed his arms across his chest and adjusted his stance. Daryl could tell that he was starting to rethink his earlier stance that the prison was little more than a deathtrap that couldn't be taken.

"You've got some kind of plan?" Rick asked.

T-Dog looked satisfied when he glanced at Daryl. Daryl nodded his head at T-Dog to give him permission to outline, for Rick, what they had discussed while they'd been walking around the prison.

"If we all went running in there," T-Dog said, "it probably would be like committing suicide. Especially if we tried to take all the Walkers at once. But we only need to make it to that first gate up there. We can send in our fastest person. Lay down cover fire if we have to. Get someone to that gate just long enough to pull it shut. That leaves us with only the Walkers in that area to pick off. We can call them down. Make noise. Get them to come to the fences. We can pick them off with knifes. Blades. We can save bullets that way."

"The fences will hold," Daryl said when T-Dog stopped talking like he'd said everything that he needed to say for the moment. "We can see that. We'll test 'em even more when we're in there. We can close ourselves into the first little area there and stay as long we want. We can call Walkers down. Pick them off through the fences. And the whole damn time we're doin' it, we'll be protected because they can't get at us from out here."

A smile slowly spread across Rick's face. He nodded his head more to himself than to either Daryl or T-Dog.

"And then, eventually, we'll clear out all the Walkers in there," Rick said. "As they come to the fence."

"It'll get trickier as the bodies pile up," Daryl said. "We don't want 'em gettin' too high or too heavy. We can stay there for a while pickin' 'em off, but we better not do it too long."

"Eventually our runner's going to have to go for the next gate," T-Dog said. He started walking and, without any explicit need for instruction, Daryl and Rick followed him. Daryl already knew what he wanted them to see, but Rick hadn't seen the whole prison. He'd remained facing the front of the complex. "See over there? That's the second set of gates. We could move into that second section if a runner could close the gate. We'll repeat the process. That'll take us right up there near the actual entrance of the prison. One more gate until we've got access to the building."

"So, we do the same thing again," Rick offered.

"That last one, there? If we close it, we'll shut out that whole area that's been compromised," Daryl said. "For good measure, we oughta pick it clean so they don't bunch up too bad and bend the fences, but we don't gotta have that area for a while."

"We'll fix something temporary to keep more Walkers from getting in for a while," T-Dog offered. "A stopper. Then, when we're settled, we'll have time to figure out how to properly fix the fence so that it's just as dependable as the rest of the fences."

"Eventually," Daryl said, "we'll clear the whole damn place out. But even if we rested a whole fuckin' day in between each of them gates, we'd gain access to the buildin' in like three days. And by the time we got access to the building, we've done cleared everything out front. That's plenty of room for all kinda shit. We can worry about what else we need later, but that'll give us room for a lot right away."

"And it'll be safe," T-Dog said. "Protected by the fences."

"Then we have to clear the prison," Rick said. "And we don't know what's in there."

"Whatever the hell is in there," Daryl said, "we can handle. If we gotta, we'll get bodies on one side of the door. Force it almost closed. Let Walkers out one or two at a time and anybody can pick 'em off. We'll keep 'em from comin' out heavy an' bunchin' up. Might mean we're cleanin' the place out for a week or even two, but we can sleep in the yard in the meantime. We can look at them towers for a place to sleep. Hell—we're movin' our vehicles inside, so we can sleep in them. The point is, no matter how damn long it takes us to clear out that building, we're sleepin' with the protection of fences."

"And every damn day we spend clearing Walkers out of the prison is a day closer to not having to live clearing Walkers out of anything every single day," T-Dog said with a laugh.

Rick held his hands up in surrender at both of the men and flexed his fingers in the familiar cop method of trying to calm someone down. Then he spoke.

"I'm not trying to tear down your idea," Rick said. "But there are other things we have to consider."

"And I just know you're gonna tell us what the fuck they are," Daryl said with a laugh.

"Water," Rick said.

"Creek," Daryl responded. "And around here, you can bet your ass that creek is well-fed from a river. There's underground springs and wells every other fuckin' foot in this area. We'll spend a while haulin' water, but eventually we might dig a well."

"If we're here long enough," T-Dog offered, "we might have the opportunity to figure out how the hell to get a pump system going."

"And you already know that Carol's gonna purify that shit 'cause she ain't been able to count on a fuckin' soul to help her so far, so she's used to boilin' water while she does about a dozen other things."

Rick recoiled slightly, and Daryl could tell that the man hadn't missed his intended jab. Daryl was almost satisfied that Rick looked at least a little apologetic and, even, a little sheepish.

"It's been a challenge to divide tasks," Rick offered.

"Save your half-assed excuses," Daryl offered with a laugh. "I don't wanna fight about it right now. My point is that this is what the hell we need right now. I'm hearin' you got a kid on the way every other hour." He held his own hand up in Rick's direction to stop him from saying anything. "That's fine. I get it. If I had a kid on the way, I'd be shittin' bricks, too, I reckon. I'm chompin' at the damned bit to have a place where Sophia can live. Really fuckin' live. I want her to know what the hell it's like wakin' up in the same place every day an' it ain't the seat of a truck."

"What Daryl's trying to say is that this is a place where we can make a home. Build a life," T-Dog said. "We can sleep here. All of us. At once. And we don't have to pack up when the sun comes up and we don't have to go to sleep wondering when the hell we're ever going to settle down."

"We don't have to take the whole place at once," Daryl said. "We can take it a couple of feet at a time. But, eventually, the whole damn thing is going to belong to us. Beyond if we want to expand. Put up more fences eventually."

Rick stood and considered the prison for a moment.

It was an old prison. Georgia had probably lowered funding for the place to the bare minimum to be able to funnel those funds elsewhere—and likely into somebody's pockets. The yard, at this moment, crawled with Walkers who ambled in one direction and then another because, in an abandoned prison yard, they had very little to draw their attention and give them direction.

Even the morning was overcast and the sky threatened to piss pour rain. It made the entire scene in front of them seem gray and damp and dirty.

But Daryl could practically see a heavenly glow blanketing the whole scene.

The prison would be safe. They would take control of it and, eventually, and like T-Dog said, they would turn it into a home. They would build a life there. Daryl could imagine a place where it was safe to let Sophia play. It was safe to sleep at night without worrying about what might surprise them as soon as their eyes were closed. Daryl could imagine a place where it was safe enough to settle and to really have something that he'd never dreamed of having before.

He was prepared to fight with everything he had for that prison.

And when Rick's expression shifted ever-so-slightly, Daryl knew that they were finally on the same page, even if it was only for a brief moment.

Rick was willing to fight for that prison, too.

Rick smiled to himself.

"We better get started if we're going to teach any of the women how to shoot well enough to lay down cover fire without killing anyone," Rick offered. "And we've got to figure out who can run the fastest."


	62. Chapter 62

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **Please note that this whole process will be different from the show, though there will be some things that I borrow.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think.**

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None of the women were undiscovered sharpshooters that could be counted on to split a playing card in half at the distance of thirty paces—or anything even remotely similar. Carol and Maggie, though, proved to be the quickest studies, and Daryl was confident that either of them could hit a skull, even if they didn't hit a Walker right between the eyes, at least seven out of ten times.

It wasn't perfect odds, but it was good enough.

Everyone who couldn't shoot was given something to use to stab Walkers, and Hershel was left behind in a vehicle with Sophia for the time being.

"I don't like this," Carol said, keeping her voice low as she stood off to the side with Daryl.

He smiled at her. He couldn't help himself.

"You worried about me?" He asked.

She frowned at him and half rolled her eyes.

"You know I am," she said.

"I kinda like that," Daryl offered. "You worryin' about me. Gettin' all bothered."

"You want me to be worried?" Carol responded.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Shows you care," Daryl said. "That you like me a lil' bit."

"Asshole," Carol said without even a hint of bite to her tone. "I love you," she said softly.

"You do?" Daryl asked.

"I do," Carol confirmed.

"I know," Daryl said, his heart picking up a few beats per minute. "I love you—too." He added just after he'd let enough silence hang between them that he could see Carol beginning to grow concerned.

"I still don't like it," Carol said.

"You this worried about Glenn?" Daryl asked.

"I don't see why you both have to go in there," Carol said.

"So I can cover his damn ass," Daryl said. "And he don't get into trouble while we're all safe behind some fences."

Carol sighed loudly and deeply because she knew that what he was saying was true. It wasn't fair to open the small gate, shove Glenn through, and wish him luck while he was left entirely on his own to do the hardest and dirtiest part of the initial steps to gain the prison.

"Please be careful?" Carol asked.

Daryl leaned and kissed her. He only meant for it to be a quick kiss, but it ended up lasting a little longer than intended.

"Break it up," T-Dog said as he passed near them. "The sooner we get that first gate closed, the sooner we can start making plans for home sweet home."

Daryl stole one more quick kiss from Carol before he heeded T-Dog's words. Carol caught his hand and he let her have it. He tugged her along with him as they moved toward the fences where everyone was gathering together.

There were relatively few Walkers wandering around outside the prison at the moment. They'd killed the three or four that had shown some interest in them, and they'd piled their bodies up near where they intended to cut the fence into the run that was separated out at the lower part of the yard. The run gate was closed and it was empty. It was safe for them to enter and, without too many Walkers outside the fences looking for a snack, they were able to take their time cutting the wires and easing everyone inside—one at a time.

As soon as they were in, they braided wire through the fence and hooked it shut. They dropped the backpacks that each of them carried—loaded with supplies for taking over the yard, with backup weapons, and with ammunition. They took a moment to hand out weapons and to line people up at good spots along the inside fence.

Carol, T-Dog, Rick, and Maggie would be armed with guns. They would each have a bladed weapon as backup. Everyone else would have only a blade or pointed weapon of their choice. When Lori opened the gate, Glenn would dart through followed by Daryl. Daryl would offer immediate and close backup to Glenn as the young man made his way as quickly as possible to the gate. The others would cover them and pick off, with bullets, the Walkers that got closest to them—the ones that Daryl couldn't get because there were too many to handle at once.

The rest would make noise to draw the Walkers toward the run and would stab them through the fence.

Once the gate was locked and secured, they'd let everyone in from the run and they'd clear the whole section as quickly as possible before they made their way to the main gates, opened them, and allowed Hershel to drive inside with Sophia. Then they'd move their other vehicles inside, rest, and regroup.

Tomorrow they'd take the second section of the prison.

Despite Carol's anxiety, that was exactly how it had happened. They'd traded a few stray bullets and a good bit of sweat, but they'd closed the first gate, took down every Walker in the area, brought their vehicles inside and, then, they'd divided their people into working groups.

As usual—at least in Daryl's opinion—Lori was exhausted and overworked despite the fact that she'd only stabbed a few Walkers through a fence and manned the gate. She was put on the ever-important job of watching the water pots boil and holding Sophia while half of them had dragged bodies outside the fences to burn them, others kept watch for approaching Walkers, and others were responsible for hauling water in buckets from the creek so that everyone could bathe.

Four squirrels didn't make much of a meal, but they added some flavor and nutrition to the stew that Carol concocted from their supplies.

Tents snagged from a camping supply store went up—since this was the first place that was actually safe enough for them to camp and use the tents—and everyone retired to their spaces as the sun went down.

Sophia's pen was too large for the tent that Carol and Daryl were temporarily calling home. Though it would fit, it would leave little room for them to comfortably move. As a result, they'd left it in the truck and they'd simply made her a pallet on the floor near them. During the time before she was ready to commit to sleep, she'd toddled and crawled around—most of the time dressed only in a diaper because she preferred that to wearing her pajamas—and played with her toys.

When she'd finally been tired enough to allow herself to be wrangled into her pajamas, and when she'd nursed until she was full, she'd allowed Daryl to hold her and rock her while her eyelids grew heavier and heavier until, finally, she dropped off to sleep. Daryl held her instead of immediately putting her on her pallet.

Carol reclined near him on the sleeping bags they'd joined together on the tent floor.

"Tomorrow we take the second section," Carol said.

"And the upper part if we aren't too tired," Daryl offered.

"I'd rather sleep in that middle section," Carol said. "No matter how much we take."

"Any particular reason why?" Daryl asked.

"What if there are Walkers in the prison?" Carol asked. "And what if we don't know it, but they get out at night? We won't be able to clear the whole prison tomorrow, too, so I'd rather sleep with the gate in between us for safety."

"I think—if there were Walkers that could get out, they'd get out before we went to sleep. Still—it's all the same to me and I'll set up our tent wherever the hell you want it. I'd rather you sleep good than stay awake to prove some kinda point I ain't really tryin' to make."

"Do you think there will be a lot of Walkers in the prison?" Carol asked.

"I think the place'll be full," Daryl said. "But I'm figurin' that most of the Walkers'll be locked up. Some guards, maybe, to contend with. If they're locked in cells, we can clear 'em out a cell at a time. It ain't like they gettin' out now. Corpses don't pick locks too damn good, and if it was that easy to get out, they'da been out a long time ago."

"It doesn't sound too bad if you think that there's only guards walking around," Carol offered with a yawn.

"I guess it also depends on whatever the hell happened out back. Looks like part of the prison back there is damaged. Like somethin' blew up or some shit—coulda been some kinda explosion with the whole loss of electricity, or maybe even some dumbass tried to opt out with a fuckin' grenade. Whatever it is, we're gonna need to patch up the walls in that one area back there. But there's Walkers could get in from the outside."

"What if that means the prison isn't safe?" Carol asked.

"It's safe," Daryl said. "Might mean we block off that area for a while, but there ain't no shortage of doors and shit to shut off areas in a prison. But you can rest easy—it's gonna be safe. We wouldn't stay there if it turned out to be dangerous."

"We'd have done all this for nothing," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Like we ain't wasted some time already," Daryl offered. "Besides—I know it'll be safe. We might sacrifice some space before we clean up the area or take over other cell blocks, but it'll be safe. We'll be able to close off the damaged part. I promise you that."

"How do you know so much about prisons?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself again. He shifted just a little to change his position. Sophia slept soundly through the change and he smiled to himself at the look of her with her light-colored little lashes all laced together while she dreamed about all the things that she thought were wonderful about the world around her—practically the only world that she'd ever known.

"Regular prison setup ain't too different than a county jail. Ain't no secret, I'm sure, that Merle done a couple stints in jail," Daryl said. "Never nothin' too serious, and never for too long. Had some friends, too, got locked up." He cleared his throat and swallowed against his own anxiety. He found comfort in the peaceful face of the dozing baby. "I did six months," Daryl said. He flicked his eyes toward Carol.

She was looking at him. Her jaw was set. Her mouth was a straight line and her eyes were no bigger or smaller than they normally were when she was lounging around the space they shared.

She gave nothing away about her reaction to such a statement.

Daryl's stomach tightened uncomfortably.

"You ain't gonna say nothin'?" He breathed out.

"What do you want me to say?" Carol asked.

"You find out you're involved with a man who's been to jail," Daryl said. "Don't you got somethin' to say?"

Carol shrugged her shoulders and studied the stitching on the sleeping bag.

"You think—Ed never went to jail?" Carol asked. Daryl frowned at her.

"Don't like bein' compared to him," Daryl said.

"I wasn't comparing you," Carol said. "I just meant—I've been to the jail a few times. I posted bail for the asshole." She flicked her eyes away from Daryl. "It's you who ought to feel embarrassed to be, as you say, involved with someone who was so damn stupid."

"Not stupid," Daryl said.

"Stupid," Carol said.

"Why'd you post the bail?" Daryl asked.

"What kind of life did I have without him?" Carol asked. "I didn't have any skills. I didn't have any way to live. And I knew, when he got out, he was going to find me. Maybe I thought that—if I was the one who got him out—maybe he'd go easier on me."

Daryl swallowed, his stomach aching.

"Did he?" Daryl asked.

Carol looked at him. Now her eyes seemed bigger. Sadder.

"What do you think?" She asked. Daryl choked back his sadness at the words and focused on the peaceful face of Sophia.

"All that's different now," Daryl said.

"Completely different," Carol said. She reached her hand out and touched his leg. She squeezed his thigh affectionately and his dick stirred a little to try and see if the gesture was leading to something that required more of his involvement. She smiled at him. The smile was worth more than Daryl could say, and his chest ached. "What'd you go to jail for?" Carol asked.

"Mostly bein' stupid," Daryl said. "An' bein' Merle's fuckin' idiot brother."

Carol laughed to herself.

"Really," she said. "What'd you go for?"

Daryl sighed.

"Assault. If you wanna know the truth of it. Though—not the same as what I imagine Ed prob'ly went for."

"I bet not," Carol said softly.

"Merle was always fuckin' with the wrong damn people," Daryl said. "Right or wrong—he was my brother. I was obligated to have his back. It's just that one time I had his back against someone who was able and willin' to prove that the fight was provoked. Did six months over in Athens."

Carol hummed and moved her arm so that she could lie comfortably on her side. She remained quiet for a while with her hand still resting on Daryl's thigh. Daryl let the quiet settle in between them. He listened to the sounds around them—snatched conversations from other tents and the almost constant growl of Walkers and the clanging of chain link being rattled.

"You sorry you with me?" Daryl asked.

"I wouldn't be sorry to be with you if you'd killed a man," Carol said. She laughed to herself. "I can't explain it, but I feel safe with you. I love you. The rest doesn't matter to me. Maybe—it doesn't matter who we are. It's more about…who we're becoming."

Daryl hummed to himself.

"You're safe with me," he assured her. "You and Sophia. Still—I wouldn't have minded killin' a man if it coulda been Ed. Woulda done the time for it, too."

"I'm glad you didn't," Carol said. "Just because—then you'd be in prison and not here. With me. With us."

"I'm here," Daryl offered. His chest ached at the words—and the genuine sound of feeling behind them. "You—really do love me?"

Carol laughed quietly. She shifted around to lie on her back. Even her eyes smiled at him in the flickering light of their camping lamp.

"More every day," she said. "In fact—why don't you put Sophia down? Come on over here and let me prove it to you."


	63. Chapter 63

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here!**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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It took them a little longer to take full control of the prison yard than Daryl had daydreamed it might. They slept in the fenced in section at the bottom of the yard for three more nights—content not to move their tents just to sleep a few feet closer to the building.

The final leg of the taking over was the most difficult.

From the area where the fences had been destroyed, Walkers spilled into the space around the building. Their fires, conversations, gunshots, and other noises—including Sophia's cries—had drawn every Walker in the area to investigate. The fences kept them out without a problem, but many of them stumbled around and spilled into the back of the prison yard where the destroyed portion of the fence granted them access.

From there, they filtered into the upper section of the yard, thus making it very difficult for the small group to get control of them. As soon as they picked them off enough to seem like Glenn and Daryl might be able to make a run for the gate, more Walkers seemed to appear from nowhere and come rushing in like water.

Finally, the only way they'd managed to take the final section was to, essentially, flood the area themselves. They left Sophia behind with Lori, and the rest of them—right down to Hershel—rushed the area with knives, axes, machetes, and hatchets that they'd gathered along the way. Instead of Glenn running for the gate with Daryl to cover him, and the rest of them calling Walkers to the fences or trying to pick them off with stray bullets that would only attract more Walkers, they all fought as hard as they could against any and every Walker they could see.

By the time they took the upper yard, all they'd wanted to do was go back to their tents, wash, eat, and sleep.

But at least they'd won the final piece of the yard that they had to win before they could start clearing the building.

The building, when they reached it, granted the access to a cell block—one of many, but they weren't trying to be too over-enthusiastic, too quickly.

A guard with his brains blown out spotted them a master set of keys that Rick lifted off his body, and they cleared out the cell block. Someone had to have come through the cellblock, probably when the whole thing had started and people hadn't known how to react, and done a lot of work of taking out prisoners. Walking up and down the rows of cells, they saw the same thing over and over—one bullet to the brain, each prisoner slumped against the wall. There had been a mass execution. They knew the exact moment, though, when either the bullets had run out or those doing the executions had run out of luck. The final cells had Walkers reaching out to try to snag a taste of something. They were easy to kill through the bars of their cages, though, before the cells were unlocked and the bodies were dragged out.

It took a solid day just to clear the cell block.

Then it was time for the cleaning to begin. For another two days, they hauled water into the prison and up to the top of the yard where Carol, Beth, and Lori constantly built and tended fires over which they boiled water in the heavy pots they'd found along the way and carried around with them in their truck. With the water and hoarded soap, they washed blankets and sheets and other items and hung them to dry on rope tied up around the prison yard to create space for so many linens.

Because Lori couldn't be around the chemicals, she was given the job of keeping the laundry going while Carol scoured and scrubbed the cell block with bleach, and Beth helped tend to Sophia and made trips back and forth to help each of the women with their various tasks.

For at least two days, Lori assigned laundry related tasks while Carol assigned other general cleaning tasks. Hershel dragged people to help him dig decent latrines and to discuss the possibility of building a pump system. Daryl hunted to keep them eating fairly regular meals. And everyone jumped in to help where they could.

It was the first time that they'd all worked together—truly worked together—in as long as Daryl could remember.

Those nights, they all slept in the freshly scrubbed cells on linens they'd brought with them, while the prison linens dried in the open air. They all slept soundly, too, from having worked from the time they'd woken until the time they'd gone to sleep.

The cots were small—barely large enough to fit one body—but Carol and Daryl made them fit two bodies. Daryl put his back against the wall and focused on making himself as small as he could. He wrapped himself around Carol and held her through the night, only allowing her up when she had to get Sophia out of her pen to feed her or change her.

Carol tried to wake at Sophia's first whimper to save the rest of the prison from a rude awakening each time she cried, but sometimes she wasn't successful. They'd chosen a cell that was somewhat removed from the others, but the baby's cries still echoed through the prison since every sound there seemed to go on forever, bouncing off the walls. Daryl told Carol not to worry about it. She was doing her best and, for any criticism they might have, none of them would do any better when it was their turn to raise babies in the cellblock.

Daryl, no matter what, was awake every time Sophia stirred Carol from her sleep.

While Carol sat on the edge of the bed with her back to Daryl and nursed Sophia, Daryl reached a hand up and rubbed her back with his fingertips. She hummed at him, quietly, to let him know that she felt him.

"She's hungry," Daryl said. "I can hear her—focused. Swallowin'."

Carol laughed quietly, barely breathing out her humor.

"You'd think she was starving," Carol said. "As greedy as she acts when it's time to feed."

"Sometimes she is," Daryl said. "I don't think you get enough to eat, all the time, to make what you need to feed her all she wants. I think that's why she eats as much as she does. As often, I mean. Keep gettin' a couple mouthfuls here an' a couple there of what you got to offer."

"You're an expert on breastfeeding now?" Carol asked.

Daryl kept running his fingertips over her back because he liked the comfort of feeling her there, and he liked the repetition of the action. Carol didn't complain about the touch either.

"I'm not completely stupid about things like breastfeeding," Daryl said with a yawn. "I mean I know some about animals feedin' their young. Same idea, really. Besides—I talked to Hershel about it 'cause I worry about you an' Sophia. Both of you."

"What'd Hershel say?" Carol asked.

"Same as I already suspected," Daryl said. "That and what I already knew—this place? It's gonna be good for all of us. So much potential to rest. Build somethin' worth having. Really build that life we been talkin' about since we left the farm. We gonna go on runs and gather shit."

"What kind of shit?" Carol asked, laughing quietly.

"Shit to plant crops," Daryl said. "Build a pump. Maybe some simple irrigation canals. A smokehouse for meat." He hummed to himself, trying to remember everything that he'd ticked off that he'd be interested in during one of the rest intervals when he'd sat with Hershel and T-Dog to share a cigarette, some water, and a little time spent reveling in the potential of what they'd found. "Hershel wants to find medical supplies."

"He's worried about Lori," Carol said.

"He didn't say that directly," Daryl said. "She looked OK to me. Hell—she's been at least hangin' sheets on the lines."

"I didn't mean he's worried now. Not immediately. She's got a little while, still," Carol said, keeping her voice barely above a whisper and reminding Daryl that he had to watch his own volume, as well. "I mean—she had Carl by c-section. She wasn't able to push him out on her own."

"I coulda gone my whole fuckin' life without that thought rollin' around in my brain, Carol," Daryl offered.

"It's serious, Daryl," Carol said. "She could die if she can't push the baby out. The baby could die. And if he doesn't have the supplies that he needs, she won't live through the surgery to get the baby out. The respirator's a good start, but he'd be better off if he had more supplies." Carol sighed. "She'd have a better chance if he had more supplies. I'm worried about her."

"Really?" He asked.

"She's the only girlfriend I've got," Carol said.

"She don't help you with shit," Daryl said. "She don't—don't hardly seem to give a damn about you."

"Stop," Carol said.

"I'm sorry, but it's true," Daryl said.

"She's not perfect," Carol said. "But Beth's too young and…Maggie is too, really. Our experiences are too different. And Andrea's dead, Daryl."

Daryl patted her back before he went back to scratching at it.

"We'll find Hershel what he needs," Daryl said. "But—can I ask you a question."

"Hmmm?" Carol hummed.

"Just—makin' sure an' all…" Daryl said. "But—if you were to have a baby…just to remind me in case you told me but I wasn't listening or I forgot…and not that I'm sayin' you gotta have one or I'm expectin' you to have one, but just if it was to happen…"

Carol laughed. She interrupted him with her words.

"I had Sophia naturally," Carol said. "No scar means no c-section. You'd be able to tell."

"So, there wouldn't be no worry?" Daryl asked.

"There's always a worry," Carol said. "But—at least with Sophia, I could push her out. My baby was able to fit through my hip bones, if that's what you're worried about."

"Jesus," Daryl growled. "Fit through your hip bones? That's another damn image I coulda gone my whole damn life without."

Carol laughed.

"How'd you think they got through there, Daryl?" Carol asked.

"They went the fuck around," Daryl said. "Hell—I don't know. I try not to think about it, really. To be honest, never really had a reason to think about it. They go through your hip bones?"

"Well, the space between your hip bones," Carol said. "It opens up. Gets bigger. That's why we—it's why we waddle."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Did you waddle?" He asked.

Carol laughed.

"Terribly," she said.

"I bet you it was cute," Daryl offered.

"I was huge and gross," Carol said.

"Fuckin' adorable," Daryl replied. "Beautiful."

"Ed didn't think so," Carol said.

Daryl's stomach tightened and he kneaded her back muscles in response.

"Yeah, well—may he rot in hell," Daryl said. "I'da been different."

"I'm sure you would have," Carol agreed.

"Never thought about all that before, though. Not like that. Not—not all detailed like that."

"You may never have a reason to think about it again," Carol said.

Daryl hummed at her.

"Either way," he offered, "I'm a fuckin' expert on it now. And breastfeeding. Told you—I talked to Hershel. When we go out gettin' everything we need? We're gonna look for food, but we're also gonna start producin' our own as soon as we can. Look for some animals, too. You gonna eat 'til you can't eat no more. Then Sophia ain't gonna need to feed all the damn time 'cause she's gonna get full when she eats—not just give up 'cause there ain't enough an' she's gotta wait for you to fill back up."

Carol laughed to herself.

"You make me feel like—like a bucket or something," Carol said.

"Is it all that different?" Daryl asked. "I mean—I know you ain't a bucket. But I mean—like the milk fills up and it empties out."

"I guess you're right," Carol said.

She pulled away from him, but it didn't take him long to see that she wasn't abandoning him in any way. She'd fed Sophia what she could, and she'd burped the baby. Sophia hadn't wanted to wake in the first place, really, so she'd fallen back asleep easily. Her cries had been only a plea for food. They'd been cries brought about by an aching belly she wished was full.

It made Daryl sad to think that it might not even be full then. She might still be hungry. Her mother was giving all she had, though. She was, perhaps, giving more than she even had to spare. At least the hunger was quelled a little because she'd gone back to sleep, and all was quiet now.

Carol, after putting the baby down, was coming back to sleep, too.

"Come on in here," Daryl said, welcoming Carol back to the cot and wrapping himself around her to protect her from accidentally falling off.

She hummed at him and curled tightly into him.

"You're so comfortable," she mused.

"I'ma make sure you get all you need," Daryl said. "One day? You and Sophia—you ain't gonna have to be hungry."

"You want me to be fat," Carol said with a laugh.

"I just want you to be comfortable," Daryl said.

"I am comfortable," Carol said. "Right here. We can sleep, Daryl. Both of us. At the same time."

"All three of us," Daryl offered. Carol hummed happily. "When we go out lookin' for stuff, what do you want?"

"I'm fine," Carol said.

"What'cha want?" Daryl pressed.

"Anything?" Carol asked.

"Anything within my power," Daryl said with a laugh.

"A bed," Carol said. "Like the one we had at the farm. Big enough for us to spread out." She laughed quietly and burrowed a little tighter against him. "So you don't have to hold me on the bed all night long."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Yeah," he said. "Sure thing. I'll get you a bed. But—I'm happy to hold you, too. For just a little while longer."


	64. Chapter 64

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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The run took six days, but it was worth it. During the long-distance run, Glenn, Daryl, and Rick all camped out in various cleared locations together. They got two semi-trucks running and a large moving truck running. They loaded all the beds that they possibly could into those two trucks. They found towels and linens at a linen outlet store, and they cleaned out a great deal of that store's supplies. They ran across several small vets' offices during their extended run, two clinics and a dental office, a baby supply store, six picked-over grocery stores, and at least four gas stations where they were at least able to snag a few sacks of items left behind by looters that had come before them, and they were able to siphon fuel for their trucks. They also found a feed and seed store and were able to clean out a good bit of required supplies on Hershel's list.

They returned, triumphant and not at all humble, to the prison with all their spoils. They employed the help of the rest of their small group to get the trucks unloaded, but the unloading process took another two days. Switching out the beds took another two.

Everything that they had in excess, they stored in empty cells for future use.

When the trucks were finally empty, they pulled them around, outside the fences, to help block the area that still needed repairs. The trucks wouldn't keep the Walkers out entirely, since whether they meant to or whether it was accident, they could still maneuver around barriers to some degree, but it would slow them down enough to allow Daryl and the others to get in there and figure out how to repair the fences.

While Daryl did some hunting, Hershel worked on building a nice barn for smoking meat, and Rick worked on hauling wood and water for the washing, cleaning, and cooking that Lori, Maggie, Beth, and Carol were doing in between rearranging items in the prison, Glenn and T-Dog took the smaller truck and found a supply store for lumber and other odds and ends they would need to build and repair things. Much of it had been damaged with weather and the fact that, at the end of the world, nobody was really building too much and, therefore, it had started to simply rot from resting, piled together, in the outside area of a lumber yard, but they scraped together what they could use. They also loaded some rolls of wire that they were able to handle, and snagged what tools could be useful without electricity.

Finally, it was time to rest, sit back and admire what they'd done, and plan their future steps.

The uneven ground of the prison yard was sometimes hard for a toddling Sophia to navigate. She was determined, though, to do it. She didn't want to be carried. She wanted to run free and, honestly, Daryl couldn't blame her. She'd rarely been given free reign of anything more than a room here or there.

And the yard was safe. They had worked hard to guarantee that.

So, while Carol read a book, on a blanket in the sun, with her free day, Daryl was keeping Sophia entertained when she didn't need to be fed—something Carol had said was the greatest gift that Daryl could give her.

Sophia wailed and went rigid if Daryl tried to pick her up and carry her. She'd screamed from the moment he'd picked her up, after worrying over her running around on the gravel and concrete, until he'd put her feet on the grass.

When she was left to roam free, she was all smiles. She would look back at him, from time to time, bark out a pleased "Da" at him to make sure he knew that she knew he was following her, and she would laugh almost hysterically over jokes that only she could understand. She fell down often—very often—but even that didn't bother her too much. Daryl learned quickly that if he made a big deal over her fall, she cried about it. If he didn't, at most she might turn around and make the same expression her mother made when something hurt, but wasn't unbearable by any stretch of the imagination. She'd usually hold her palms up in Daryl's direction, but she was happy when he brushed his fingers over them or kissed them to heal whatever discomfort she was feeling.

In the lower part of the yard, where the ground was softest for falling on repeatedly, Daryl found a seat for himself in the dirt. Sophia toddled around him, talking to him about things that he couldn't entirely understand, and she brought him gifts. Every time she started to put something in her mouth, he let out a loud noise that startled her, but stopped her from eating whatever it was. So, instead of eating the things she selected, she brought them to him to soothe over whatever had made her "Da" squawk at her so harshly. He piled her gifts up—leaves from the trees sprouting around the yard, thanks to the lack of upkeep in the prison yard, sticks from those very same trees and scrub bushes, blades of grass ripped up in toddler-sized handfuls, and the occasional six-legged friend—in small piles beside him. The bugs he allowed to escape, but the rest he kept for when she'd come over and, holding both her hands palm up and furrowing her brow, bark at him as if to ask where her treasures were.

Knowing that Carol was happy and was, for the first time in a while, actually relaxing made Daryl feel good. Knowing that Sophia was happy and was able to stretch her legs and explore the world a little made Daryl feel good.

Knowing that they were safe, and on their way to building the best life that they could, made Daryl feel excellent.

Rick found him while he was relaxing on the ground near Sophia.

"Can I sit?" Rick asked.

"I don't own the land," Daryl said with a laugh.

Rick sat down. Daryl was glad that he chose to sit instead of standing, mostly lording over Daryl.

"Hershel's setting up a clinic," Rick said.

"Good," Daryl ceded.

"He says—it could be a couple of weeks before the baby comes," Rick said. "Or it could be a few days."

"Lori got any thoughts on it?" Daryl asked.

Rick laughed to himself.

"She'd probably tell you before she'd tell me," Rick said.

Daryl didn't pry too deeply into Rick and Lori's marriage—mostly because he didn't care. Still, everyone who had eyes and enough world-knowledge to be able to comprehend anything happening around them, knew that the marriage was bad and getting worse, practically by the hour.

Daryl didn't know or care, really, who was to blame. In the end, he supposed that they were both at least a little bit to blame. He could certainly point his finger at some things that Lori had done along the way to make things hard in their marriage. He wasn't going to pretend Rick was a peach, though. The man pissed most of them off regularly. Even though he seemed mostly motivated to do what he needed to do to make sure that Lori and Carl had all they ever wanted, and even though that might seem like something that would make his wife happy, Daryl knew there were things that he'd done that Lori simply didn't approve of.

The marriage was disintegrating, but every man had to handle his own shit when it came to his woman.

"You gotta get prepared for it, regardless," Daryl offered, to shift the conversation away from Rick's failing marriage and back in the direction of the fact that Lori was set to give birth to a baby any day—a baby that Rick was, at the very least, going to claim as his child, regardless of what the child's biological parentage might actually be.

"As good as all this is," Rick said, "I think we need to talk about what comes next."

"We already been talking about what comes next," Daryl said with a laugh. "Got a list that's gonna last until Sophia's grown. Gotta start practicing with them hand planers. Start makin' our own planks. Need barns up. Fences. Start trackin' and trappin' livestock to re-domesticate them. I'ma build a nice ass rabbit hutch to help keep us in fresh meat when the huntin' ain't no good. Wanna repair them back fences, open up the back of the prison yard, and, eventually, extend the fences out to bring in all this open land. Lay out where we wanna plant. Take down these extra fences we don't need. Make it work for us like we want it. Work on buildin' a pumpin' system and an irrigation system." Daryl reached in his pocket, fished out a cigarette from his pack, and lit it. He squawked at Sophia who was seconds away from eating what appeared to be a roly poly, and laughed to himself when she dropped it and looked at him like he'd betrayed her because she could no longer find it in the grass. "We know where the hell we're goin', Rick, it's just a long an' steady walk to get there. But—hell—at least we got all this in the meantime."

Rick laughed to himself and nodded.

Now that they weren't required to find a place to sleep and be secured in that place before the sun set too deeply and the Walkers really got active, they were back to spending a little of that evening time sitting together—mostly as a group, unless someone had some reason to want to be removed for a bit—and discussing the life that they all hoped to find.

It was doing wonders for bringing them closer, despite their differences.

It also meant that they'd all been able to present things they hoped for, and they'd all been able to present ideas about how to make life better for everyone.

"Maybe I was talking about—where we need to go next," Rick said.

"You narrowed it down to what's most important?" Daryl asked.

"We've got some food," Rick said. "We're safe for the time being. But if we push in to the prison a little bit, we're going to find three things that we need."

"Which are?" Daryl asked. "Not that I disagree…I think we gonna find a lot of shit we can use, but…"

"There's a cafeteria somewhere," Rick said. "Besides the fact that we probably can't get it functioning, there are going to be pots and pans for cooking for large numbers. Things that'll make everyone's life easier while they're preparing food."

"So, Carol," Daryl said. "You're talkin' about shit that's gonna make Carol's life easier. And Beth's when Carol gets her to help, 'cause you ain't some dumbass that don't realize how Carol gets taken advantage of and spends her whole damned life puttin' food in everybody's mouths—a lot more'n she puts in her own."

Rick frowned at him.

"We're doing our best to divide the resources. And the work," he said. "Hershel keeps Maggie busy most of the time. Lori's go to be careful."

"I ain't gonna argue it right now," Daryl offered. "You're fuckin' up my Zen."

"The cafeteria would also have a large food store," Rick said. "Lots of non-perishable food. We could find an armory. Know we're protected. And we could find the infirmary. Know we're protected on that front, too." He shook his head. "I'm not really asking permission. We have to make a decision on what we're doing next. I'm the leader. I'll make the decision if we can't arrive at it together."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You're just lettin' us peons know what the hell we can agree with if we feel like we wanna have the satisfaction of bein' in on the winning decision. That it, Rick?"

Rick frowned at him again. This time, Daryl could see the vein on Rick's forehead as it pulsed a little. He recognized the slightest hint of warning that Daryl had put behind the words.

If it wasn't the best decision, then there was a good chance that it wouldn't be made by the group—and Rick was really in a position where he'd be hard-pressed to make the lot of them go along with something they didn't want to do.

Not now.

"Sophia!" Daryl called, stopping the little girl as she was about chew on a particularly delicious looking twig, with leaves still attached, that had fallen off one of the little scrub trees planted by the birds.

"Da!" She yelled back at him. She launched into a string of babble—some of which he could have sworn included the word "here" as she toddled over to him and offered him the fat twig as a gift.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he said, taking it from her. When she leaned into him, he realized what she wanted, and he pulled her into his lap. He gave her the twig back so that she could sit on his legs and play with it.

Rick was still silent. He was watching, but he wasn't saying anything. Finally, though, he did speak.

"You have something else you think is more urgent than—opening up some more space? Possibly securing more weapons, more food, more needed supplies, and more medical supplies? Because—if you think there's something more urgent, I'd like to hear your argument."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"This is one time I think you're right, Rick," Daryl offered. "We oughta push in. Start openin' up more space. See what the prison's got to offer. Looks like we're in the main building. Could be a commissary, too. Tools in a workroom. A gym. Library. Hell—it ain't shit we got to have, but this is about buildin' a life now. Not just survivin'. So—if we ready to push in? I say we push in. It would do us some good, too, to push in far enough to see if there's any damage inside that goes with that damage outside. It don't look like it from the field, but looks can be deceiving."

Rick laughed to himself.

"If you agreed with me, why did you act like I was pushing you into something?" Rick asked.

Daryl hummed to himself. Sophia rocked on his lap, happily babbling about her stick and occasionally showing it to Daryl like he'd be amazed at how the breeze rustled the little leaves. Every now and again, she leaned against him—proof that she was growing a little sleepy. He kissed her head when she leaned it against him.

"Maybe, Rick, I just wanted to remind you that—I don't intend on bein' pushed. I'll go wherever the hell we need to go of my own free will. But I don't like to be pushed. And you push everyone too damn much, they gonna push back. Maybe I just—wanted to remind you of that point."

"I heard you," Rick offered after a moment.

Daryl half expected him to get up. He thought, maybe, the man might walk away to nurse hurt feelings or an aching ego. To his surprise, instead, Rick stayed where he was. He sat, quietly, and he looked around at the same thing Daryl was looking at—everything that they eventually hoped to encompass in their fences. Everything they hoped would serve them well.

Daryl—and Sophia, for that matter—didn't mind the company.


	65. Chapter 65

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I will admit that I'm not going into tons of detail about events that don't really need to be spelled out for the progress of this particular story. I'll handle them in a bit of a "glossing over" manner. I hope that doesn't drive anyone too crazy. If it does, my apologies.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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The push-in and push-forward that they had imagined did not turn out anything like what they'd hoped.

Daryl stood in the prison yard, smoking a cigarette and keeping Sophia out from underfoot while her mother worked. He was keeping watch, too, over the stirrings that were taking place in the part of the yard that they'd closed off.

There were three men in the fenced-off portion of the prison. There were three men that they didn't know well. Three men that were convicted criminals. Three men that they weren't sure what to do with.

Inside the prison, there was absolute chaos.

It had all started relatively calmly. There were parts of the prison that, until now, they'd kept locked and, in the cases where the locks failed because of something that had apparently happened back at the turn, they'd kept the doors chained.

The prison was old. It was built like a labyrinth and the layout suggested that it had been one of those institutions that had been upgraded a few dozen times during its existence. Each time, the people hired to upgrade and add-to the location had clearly been the contractors who'd offered the lowest quote to the government. The old adage about getting what you paid for rang true in most cases. Though their work wasn't necessarily shoddy, it was more than evident that they hadn't given much thought into how their additions would affect the flow of the prison. They'd literally made the additions that they needed to make in the most convenient way possible. In some locations, this meant the addition of another cell block—essentially a wing or peninsula—that was oddly place and jutted out of the structure with no rhyme or reason. In other locations, that meant the construction of a separate building that was connected to the original structure—where their cell block was located—by a hallway that was little more than a well-constructed and permanent connecting ramp.

Before they'd begun their march forward and deeper into the bowels of the prison, they'd rifled through desks in the offices that they could reach and searched for fire safety maps that would give them some guidance as to where they were going and how they might get there. There had been some exchanged laughter among them because, upon finding the maps they were seeking, they'd found several versions practically stuck together as they'd been stacked, with each new addition, on top of one another and stored in a drawer that was sticky with the remnants of exploded packets of unidentifiable sauce from a local Chinese restaurant.

The most recent map had prepared them for the path that they would take as they pressed through the prison. They found spray paint in storage, and decided to use it to mark their way, but they'd also memorized the twists and turns from their cell block to the cafeteria—the first place of importance—like the steps to some kind of popular dance: left, left, right, left, right...until they were comfortable saying all the turns they would make, forward and backward, so that nobody could get too lost in the pitch black labyrinth.

They had anticipated that they might encounter Walkers on the way. For that reason, they'd left the women and children behind until they knew what to expect. They didn't have enough flashlights to go around, and they didn't want anyone starting off in the dark, even though some of them may somehow end up in the dark.

They hadn't expected the sheer magnitude of Walkers that they encountered.

Daryl felt like they'd spent hours just pushing Walkers back and putting down as many as they could. They'd finally tried to double back toward the safety of the cell block to catch their breath, regroup, and figure out a better way to handle things. On their attempt to return, however, they'd gotten overrun in the worst way and pushed off in a direction they'd never planned to go. On top of everything else, Hershel had been bitten on the leg, and they'd had no choice but to try to find a place to help him.

That's how they'd found the cafeteria.

There, they'd immediately chopped off Hershel's leg with an axe.

And they'd found five prisoners that had been locked in since the turn—they were, as far as anyone knew, the last remaining prisoners that had not died.

Everything that happened later was practically surreal to Daryl. Caught up in the adrenaline rush caused by fear for Hershel, fear that they wouldn't make it back through the Walkers to the cell block, and fear that strangers could be more dangerous than beneficial, he felt like his brain had recorded everything that happened in the same way an old-fashioned video camera might have recorded things with the lens' cap snapped in place.

These prisoners were unarmed but determined to make it out of the cafeteria—and panic made any man dangerous, especially one who was likely dangerous to begin with. If they wanted to save Hershel— with half his leg chopped off with an axe—before he bled out, they had to act quickly. They didn't have time to dawdle with negotiations.

Daryl's solution to the whole thing would have been to act as quickly as possible, while the prisoners were unarmed, and put down anyone who didn't want to go along with the plan, but he realized that was coming from a reactionary position of fear. He also realized that Rick wasn't going to go along with that. Saint Rick was determined to save them if they could prove useful—and he could paint it any damn way he wanted, but that was why he wanted to save them.

In the negotiations, Daryl and the group earned half of what was in the cafeteria and the assistance of the prisoners getting back to the cell block. They promised a part of the yard and assistance in clearing out another cell block that could be locked and kept separate. After all, they didn't know each other yet and some of them had families to protect.

In the process of returning to the cell block, they lost one of the prisoners—some damn people didn't know how to play with others, and it was better to get rid of them early on. While Daryl had supported Rick's decision to be rid of the asshole, he'd silently scolded the man for not just getting rid of the others. They didn't all seem horrible—and, in fact, three of them seemed quite anxious to comply—but there was at least one other asshole left in the bunch that seemed a bit too squirrely for Daryl's tastes.

This wasn't a time when Daryl valued spontaneity and unpredictability.

Still, they'd locked all the prisoners in the farthest cell of cellblock C while they'd gotten Hershel in the care of Carol and whoever she chose to assist her. They'd found her everything she needed—everything they could find, at least. And they'd all prayed, or done whatever they felt best, that they wouldn't lose the old man. They were trusting that Carol would, somehow, magically possess the medical knowledge necessary to save his life.

And then, they'd cleared cellblock D by putting down the Walkers that were in there—there were very few given that whoever had gone through and killed the prisoners in cellblock C, execution-style, had also swept through cellblock D before the bullets or time had run out. There had been two Walkers in cells—both with gunshot wounds that suggested a nick instead of a solid shot to the head, probably caused by moving too quickly—and two wandering about in the uniforms of guards. Without hesitation, they'd put the guards down and forced open the emergency exit that allowed the men they were leaving there to access their corner of the prison yard. That was when they'd lost the second man. He'd wanted to make demands and, with those demands, he'd wanted to make threats about everything they'd deserved. He wanted to run the whole prison—scrawny ass little excuse for a man that he was—and Daryl and Rick had both given him the metaphorical keys to his own kingdom. They'd shoved the man into the overrun portion of the yard at the back of the prison—the part with the hole in the fence that they hadn't patched yet and a multitude of Walkers that they hadn't put down yet—and they'd left him to rule his kingdom as he saw fit. The last they'd seen of him was his scrawny ass trying to outrun the starving mob of animated corpses that was determined to close in on him and tear him to shreds.

They'd given his companions time to file a formal complaint, but none of them seemed particularly eager to come to his defense. They wanted more, but a portion of the yard and a cellblock would absolutely do for the time being. Daryl and Rick had chained up the fences well so that the remaining three men couldn't easily force their way into the other parts of the yard, and then they'd left the men to figure their own shit out.

Once they'd started to clean up their area, and they'd begun to realize how much effort went into turning this place into something livable, they'd begun to try to call out to Daryl to work out some kind of additional negotiation. They'd begun to beg for more because the grass was greener on Daryl's side of the fence—where the work had already been done. Daryl was still actively ignoring the loud protests of the thinnest of the two black men. He argued that it was unsanitary if they had no way to get rid of the Walkers beyond daring to open the part of the prison yard that was overrun with the active corpses. He argued that they needed more supplies. They needed things that they couldn't get while they were being held captive. He argued that it was inhumane to hold them as prisoners and then refuse to provide for them in the way that the prison would have. He argued that they deserved better.

With Hershel possibly dying inside the prison from a nasty ass Walker bite, Daryl wasn't in the mood to hear about what people deserved from some con that was only as free as he was because plenty of people had died when they never deserved it.

"This what you want your little girl to see? You want her to know you're locking people up when they live in this place? When they lived here before you did? This is our home. Taking it makes you no better than you think we are! You're nothing but a thief! Is that what you want your little girl to see?"

When Daryl shouldered his crossbow, quickly, and started in the direction of their fences, the other two men, both of which were occupied with dragging Walkers and stacking them up, for the time being, along the edge of their fence, dropped what they were doing and did their best to shut up the loud man and wrestle him away from the fence.

Daryl leveled his crossbow so that the asshole would see that he was just about done with his shit.

"You keep any mention of my daughter outta your dirty ass mouth," Daryl warned. "I ain't Rick. And I didn't want you here in the first damned place. All the hell you deserve is a prison cell or a grave—just what the hell the state decided you deserved before we even got here. Now we done give you more'n that. But if you're so damned determined to have what the fuck you deserve? I'll dig the fuckin' grave myself. And I'll let my daughter play with the earthworms—'cause she ain't never gonna be sheltered from what the hell this shitty ass world can be. She's gonna know that some people? They just deserve a bolt through their heads to make the world a better fuckin' place for the rest of us."

"Easy!" One of the agreeable men said. "Easy! We don't want no trouble. Oscar—he don't speak for us. We'd like more—we'd appreciate water, a way to do what we need to do to survive. But we're thankful for what you've given us."

"I'm not going to kiss your ass," the man named Oscar said. He shook his head at Daryl. "I'll tell you what I told your friend. I've never begged for my life. No matter what the hell's been happening around me. I won't start now. So you do what you gotta do. But what you're doing is inhumane. We're prisoners. We've been prisoners. But at the very least? We were given what we needed to survive. We don't have water. The only food we have is in the cafeteria and there are fifty of these corpse things between us and that food—people we used to know. We don't have weapons. We're surrounded by dead bodies. That cellblock is filthy. We're supposed to sleep with the bodies of people we knew. Some of 'em we used to call friends. Their brains are splattered on the wall and we've got nothing to clean that with. Your friend said burn the corpses, but we don't have a way of making a fire." He shook his head. "I understand you're going through some shit right now. We all are." He glanced down and Daryl followed his eyes. Sophia had, seeing Daryl on the move, abandoned her play in the yard and toddled after him. Now she was standing with her arms wrapped around his leg and her face leaned against his dirty pants leg. "I'm not talking shit about your daughter. She's a pretty little girl. A real bad ass to still be alive, from what I can tell. All I'm asking is that you be the man she thinks you are and give us a fighting chance—that or, go ahead and shoot us, because we'd have been better off if you left us in that cafeteria."

Daryl, himself, felt calmed by the calmed countenance that came over the man as he rationally explained the reason for his earlier outbursts and his throwing himself against the fences to get Daryl's attention.

When Sophia fussed, begging to be picked up and paid attention to, Daryl shouldered his crossbow and picked up the baby. She smiled at him, pleased with his affection.

"Fine," Daryl said. "We'll get you water. Shit for a fire. Food. Shit to clean with. We'll figure out—how to make it work. But you gotta be fuckin' patient. Move the bodies out or—somethin' worthwhile. We got a lot of serious shit of our own to deal with right now."

"If you let us join you," the man named Axel offered with an abundance of enthusiasm, "we could help you with—all of your shit. We could be good at handling shit!"

"Axel," Oscar said, with a bit of exasperation in his voice. "Shut up."

"I ain't lettin' you out," Daryl said. "But I'll get you what you need. At least until—we got the time to figure out what the hell's gonna happen here. You just—gotta be patient."

"We can be patient," Oscar assured him.


	66. Chapter 66

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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The next week passed like a blur for Daryl and everyone else at the prison.

Through some miracle, Carol had managed to save Hershel's life. It had been touch-and-go for a while, and Daryl, in particular, had quickly come to realize how much he valued having the old man around when he'd been faced with the very possible reality that Hershel would simply cease to be a part of their family.

They'd worked to help the prisoners get what they needed—water to survive and some to clean their cell block, and food enough to keep them alive. During the time that they'd interacted with them, though, they'd found that the men maintained exactly what they claimed in the beginning—they wanted to help. They wanted to be part of the group. During the time when people passed in and out of their space, they never touched anyone in a non-helpful way, and they volunteered to do the backbreaking work that needed to be done to make the situation work.

By the end of the week, they were on trial. They slept and lived in their cell block, but they were allowed to share the yard, during the day—with the gate being locked at night, so long as they contributed to the running of the prison during their time in the yard.

It was more of a relief than Daryl wanted to admit to simply have another three pairs of strong hands to help keep things running smoothly.

They had plans. And one of those plans involved taking down portions of the chain-link fences inside the outer-fence to have more open space for farming and livestock—at least until they managed to expand the outer fences.

It was tedious work, but the prisoners were happy to do it to show their dedication to the prison. There were always daily chores to be done—water to be hauled, clothes and linens to be washed, and food to be prepared. And, this particular day, Hershel was getting out of the prison, for the first time, on his brand-new crutches.

Daryl was cleaning the third raccoon he'd trapped during the night, with Sophia dancing around near him and keeping him company while she gathered together any manner of "treasures" from the yard, when Hershel had made his debut in the yard.

"Lookin' good!" Daryl yelled out. As an afterthought, he realized he shouldn't have been so loud, but that was the only way that his voice would have carried the distance. When he cleaned meat, he tended to stay near the fences and near the bottom of the yard where the outer fences were the most reinforced. In addition to his shout, which might very well stir up any nearby Walkers, the smell of the blood would bring them to the fence.

Daryl had very little fear of the Walkers at that part of the fence. For Sophia, he'd created a "play line" on the ground. He'd found and laid out sticks, end-to-end, to make an imaginary line that Sophia could not cross. The first day that he'd done this, he'd spent a little time training her that he would get mad if she crossed the line to get too close to the fences. When she'd been devastated that he'd chosen to be on the other side of the line that she couldn't cross, and that he'd be very angry with her if she crossed the line, he'd taught her that he would come if she called out to him, and that had cost him at least an hour of walking, almost constantly, to her side of the line, since she would wait until he'd returned to his spot to call him back.

Still, a little bit of his time was a small price to pay for Sophia to learn that he would come when she called and, also, that she couldn't go where he told her not to go.

She accepted the lesson well, and now she sat and sang songs to him—all of which she was learning from Beth, and not all of which were entirely appropriate when she chose certain words to which she would gravitate—while she piled her treasures close to her stick line.

The laughter and conversations drifting through the yard, Sophia's renditions of the songs that Beth sang to her, and the sound of Daryl's own inner voice were all so engulfing that Daryl hardly understood what was happening when the other sound started.

For just a moment of hesitation—that he would later regret, as he regretted everything he'd ever done wrong in his entire life—he looked around to try to figure out what was happening. He wasn't even sure that he understood it.

Everything had been fine, and then, it wasn't.

Nothing was fine.

The yard had been happy and pleasant and buzzing with people who were going about their business and building toward a future. The yard had been full of life.

And then, suddenly, it was full of death.

The Walkers poured out of the upper part of the yard where they'd never fully cleaned out those that had gotten stuck back there. The trucks they'd parked there kept a great deal more from coming in—though surely a few found their way in—and they hadn't gotten around to fixing the fences. It hadn't mattered. It hadn't been dangerous.

Now it was absolutely dangerous.

Daryl snatched Sophia up. He was already wearing his crossbow, but it would do him little good in the moment. He didn't even know where to aim it if he wanted to use it. He kept his knife in his hand.

Sophia screamed and began to cry. It was entirely possible that she was reacting to his reaction—and the shock of things—as much as she was reacting to genuine fear. He hugged her tightly to him and shushed her as he started to make his way quickly up the yard—taking out Walkers as he encountered them, spreading out over the yard like water running down hill out of a pipe.

"Carol!" He called out.

He didn't see where she'd gone. He couldn't find her in the scramble.

In fact, he could hardly find a living soul in the scramble. All he could do was hold tightly to Sophia and work to keep the Walkers from getting either one of them. He headed toward the prison, hoping to take refuge there with the little girl. Somehow, he finally made it near the entrance door, and he saw Maggie half-hanging out of it.

"What happened?" Daryl asked, stabbing a Walker as he handed Sophia over to Maggie's outstretched arms. "Where'd the fuckin' alarm come from?"

"I don't know," Maggie yelled over the sound of growling Walkers.

"You seen Carol?" Daryl asked.

Maggie shook her head.

"I can't find Glenn," she said.

"Take Sophia! Get her inside. I'll try to find 'em."

Maggie accepted Daryl's suggestion that he'd do his best to find Carol and Glenn. She slipped back into the prison and let the heavy door close behind her. Walkers might rattle it, but they'd never get it open. It was too heavy and too complicated. She could lock it from the inside, but she wouldn't. She'd wait for the rest of them to make it inside.

Without the worry of what might happen to Sophia, Daryl was able to throw himself into fighting Walkers with a bit more purpose. As he dropped bodies and carefully stepped around downed corpses, he found the back gate. He expected the gate to be down. He expected it to be destroyed in some way. He expected to find that the Walkers that now filled the yard had plowed their way through the fence. What he found, instead, was that it had simply been opened. He fought his way through to the gate, and soon found that he wasn't alone.

"What the hell happened?" Rick asked, seeming to appear out of nowhere. He was as covered as Daryl was in Walker guts, but he was a welcomed pair of hands.

"Someone opened the damn thing," Daryl said.

Together they pushed back the Walkers and got the gate locked again. It didn't clear the yard, but it did stop the Walkers from continuing to flood in.

"We've got to stop that alarm," Rick said.

"It's stirrin' 'em up," Daryl agreed. "They'll bust down the fence soon if we don't stop it."

They both knew where the control area was, given their study of the patched together map of the prison that they'd used before. The closest entrance to it was near the cell block where the prisoners were living. They made their way quickly there, but none of the prisoners were anywhere to be seen. Like everyone else, they'd been working in the yard when chaos had broken out, and they'd gone wherever they could take cover.

From inside the cell block, Daryl and Rick made their way into the heart of the prison again. Rick had a small flashlight, but it was little more than a novelty light. With the alarm, though, had come some kind of generated power. Lights flickered and flashed in the corridors like carnival lights. Daryl was growing slightly dizzy and a little nauseated by the repeated flickering on and off of the overhead lights. They were so bright that, when they flashed on, that they blinded him temporarily.

The power was dangerous. Part of the prison had been destroyed. Caved in. They didn't know why or how. It could have been a grenade. It could have been something crashing into the building that was no longer there. It didn't matter.

The power could start a fire, and the last thing they needed—on top of the rest of this madness—was to be trying to escape a fire. That was especially true when the only place they had to go, at this point, was into a swamp of stirred up Walkers.

When they found the control room, killing the Walkers that came snarling toward them in the flashing lights of the corridor, they found that the door was unlocked and easy to open. They made their way inside, and they immediately went looking for the controls. It wasn't too difficult to find the generator controls. They killed them and the alarm stopped sounding and the lights stopped flashing.

It was so completely dark and quiet, for just a moment, that Daryl believed he'd been struck deaf and blind.

But then he heard the sound of someone moving around. He knew it was someone. It wasn't Rick, because he was close enough to Rick to identify the man's breathing in the darkness. He extended his hand, slightly, and brushed the arm of Rick's jacket.

It wasn't a Walker. It moved too quickly. Too cleanly. It wasn't coming toward them.

Daryl tracked it a moment with his ears, thankful for the silence. He reached out, carefully, and wrapped his hand around Rick's hand that held the flashlight. He moved it, in one quick jerk, to send the light cascading over the skinny ass little convict that they'd thrown to the Walkers. He was dirty and ragged. Panting in the light of the bulb. But he'd done this.

Their yard was overrun with Walkers again. Some of their people may be injured or dead. At the very least, their people were scattered.

Daryl didn't hesitate. He didn't even think about it. He was surprised, after he'd dispatched the bolt, to even hear—like something from a ghost—the words that left his mouth in a low growl.

"Son of a bitch."

The convict's body crumpled to the floor before he'd probably even known that the bolt was coming for him. It had gone cleanly through his eye socket and Daryl was surprised, when he walked over, to find that he'd aimed so well with actually very little effort to do so. He snatched the bolt loose, satisfied at how snugly the skull held it in place and how reluctantly it let it go.

"Asshole," he muttered. "We shoulda fuckin' killed him when we had the chance. Made sure he was dead."

"Yeah," Rick agreed, barely breathing out the sound. "But we didn't. So, let's go make sure everyone's OK. I didn't see where Lori went."

"Makes two of us," Daryl said. "And I didn't see where Carol went, neither."

Daryl hoped that everyone, by now, had made their way back inside the safety of the prison. Rick was likely hoping the same thing. They didn't discuss it any further, though, as they worked their way back through the prison with the little flashlight to light their way. Eventually, they came back out in the prisoners' cell block. They found it still empty, and they let themselves into the yard. It was still crawling with Walkers, but in the absence of living bodies, and following the silencing of the alarm, they were spread out. Many of them were focused on the area where Daryl had been cleaning what would have been their dinner. The raccoons weren't going to be much of a meal, but all the Walkers wanted their chance to try to eat them.

As soon as they got inside the prison and started toward their cell block, a sound filled the air. It was a sound that Daryl hadn't heard in a long time. It was a baby crying, but it was a much younger howl than Sophia's.

Rick double-timed his steps. He called out for Lori. Daryl followed closely behind him.

Beth practically met them as they burst into the cell block with the baby wrapped in a blanket.

"The baby's fine," Beth said, holding it out toward Rick as they approached. "Daddy and Maggie—they're doing their best with Lori. She's strong. She's going to survive."

Daryl realized that they must have had to take the baby—as they'd suspected they might all along. They must have been able to get Lori back in time—and Hershel, too—to help her. Carol had trained for that surgery, though. She'd practiced on Walkers and prepared to assist, at the very least, if not to perform it on her own. Beth hadn't mentioned her.

Daryl's heart dropped into his stomach.

"Where's Carol?" He asked. "Is she with Sophia…?" He offered her the answer as a way to beg the universe to tell him something that he already knew he wasn't going to hear. He still wasn't prepared for Beth's response, though.

"Sophia's in her pen," Beth said. "We can't find Carol."


	67. Chapter 67

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I'm taking poetic license (a great deal of it) with this part of the show, so I'm offering my apologies to the canon purists among us.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol was lost.

In the scramble of things, people had gone this way and that—all of them trying to survive.

They'd found each other, trailing into the cellblock, over the course of time that Daryl and Rick were cleaning up the problem in the control room. By the time Rick and Daryl had made it back, there was mostly good news. Nobody had been bitten, even though the yard had been flooded and their day had been disrupted. Nobody had been seriously injured. Lori's labor had started, but they'd managed to get her back into the cellblock. Things were touch and go with her situation, but that was because surgery, performed under anesthesia that might be outdated, without monitoring technology, and with the use of a manual respirator, was never going to be ideal.

Everyone else was fine.

Except, of course, for the fact that two of them hadn't returned.

Carol and Oscar were lost somewhere.

They'd zigged when others had zagged, and they hadn't made it back. Because of any number of reasons—none of which Daryl really heard or cared about—nobody had so much as gone looking for them.

Sophia was safe for the moment, so Daryl went without hesitation and without asking anyone else to sacrifice their safety or comfort. He took nothing more than his own weapons and a flashlight.

In the yard, he put down the remaining Walkers that shuffled toward him. He appreciated the repetitive and familiar sensation of driving his knife into their skulls and ripping it free before he moved on to the next Walker. He shoved them back, threw them down, and drove the knife into their skulls.

And he tried to figure out where Carol and Oscar might have gone.

They had been in the upper part of the prison yard. They'd both been in the same area the last time that Daryl had glanced up in that direction—moments before everything had happened—because he'd seen them talking and admiring Hershel's ability to get around with more confidence and spryness than most of them might have had if they'd suffered a similar amputation.

Daryl checked a guard tower in the area. He opened the door and yelled inside, praying to find that they'd hunkered down in there and were waiting for someone to tell them that the coast was clear. He got no response, though, so he moved on.

There was an exit door to the part of the building that was, in the very back, caved in. It was a part of the prison that was overrun with Walkers. It was the part of the prison that they'd shut off from their area. They'd declared that, eventually, they'd venture in there to try to clean the area, but cleaning that wing would only take place long after they'd put in the effort to clean the wing that attached to the library, recreation room, and cafeteria—all things that would have more to offer them.

The building, according to the sticky maps they'd found, had been solitary confinement. The place where people were sent when they couldn't be housed with everyone else. It was a place of mental torture and, more than likely, anguish for those that were put there. If they hadn't done something terrible to deserve to be locked in tight little closed-up cells, Daryl would feel sorry knowing that human beings were being put there.

It wasn't a building with any appeal for the group, so they simply didn't bother with it.

But it did open into their yard.

And when Daryl got there, he found that the door had not only been recently opened, but it was slightly ajar. Daryl glanced down toward the ground. There was sand and gravel over the roughly paved area. It was impossible to look for any kind of tracks. The door was not normally open, though. Someone had opened it. It hadn't been the man that they'd killed—he'd have no reason to go this way and he hadn't come out into the yard. Nobody inside the prison, now, would have gone this way.

Daryl knew, in his gut, that Oscar and Carol had come this way. More than likely, they'd found themselves trapped in this area. A wall of Walkers would have been coming for them and it would have cut them off from the rest of the prison.

The fear that they would have felt to go into a part of the prison that they knew was likely crawling with Walkers, must have been intense.

The tightness that immediately seized Daryl's chest made it feel like he was being squeezed by some kind of giant, invisible boa constrictor.

He hated to hesitate even a moment in looking for Carol, but he had to. He took a moment—just a moment—to try to breathe. He tried to simply get air into his lungs. It was something that had seemed so easy only that morning, but it was proving to be more and more difficult as the day dragged on.

He wanted to prepare himself for anything that he might see inside—for what the aching in his chest was already trying to tell him to prepare for—but he couldn't. There was no way that he could prepare himself for anything. He put his hand on the metal doorknob. He wrapped it around the metal and flexed his fingers around the handle. The door was ajar. He only needed to pull the heavy metal door open, and he could step into the same hallway that Carol had stepped into less than an hour before—the longest hour he could remember.

Daryl had a desire to slap himself. He wished Merle was there, at that moment, to hit him hard in the back of the head—hard enough to clack his teeth together—so that it might help him to steel his nerves. He let out a few quick breaths, the same way he might if he were preparing to try to pull the door entirely off its hinges instead of to simply open it, and then he finally pulled it open.

Immediately, he flicked on the flashlight and shined it down the corridor.

Like the area where he and Rick had been, the lights would have been flickering in this part of the prison when Carol and Oscar had come through here. Now it was pitch black, and it would remain that way until he turned some corner to escape the narrow access hallway. Somewhere, he was sure, there were some windows in this part of the prison, but he didn't expect there to be too many—this was never meant to be a part of the prison that inspired much happiness or hope.

Daryl could certainly feel the heavy sadness that seemed to just hang in the air—or maybe that was simply the feeling that existed inside of him.

He didn't dare to call out. For the moment, there were no Walkers, but he knew that they were in there.

The access hallway was long and narrow. It was like a closed in cattle chute. Its purpose was only for people to get in and out of the building, though, so it required very little in the way of creature comforts. When Carol and Oscar had passed through here—likely in a quick-paced, panic-induced state, they would have been practically tripping over one another just to make it down the narrow passageway.

At the end of the access corridor, there was a turn off. Daryl flicked the light in one direction and then the next to try to guess where they might have gone or where the different hallways might lead.

He wasn't looking for the easiest passage for himself. He wasn't looking for an escape from Walkers for himself. He was, like some kind of would-be detective, trying to figure out where they might have gone, and he was in over his head.

When he heard the growling of Walkers, though, and none appeared, he decided to follow the sound.

Straight down the little corridor, into the darkness, there branched off another hallway. In this hallway, there was sunlight coming from windows that existed up near the ceiling. The purpose of those windows was only to allow light in for cases like this when there was no power. Those windows, perhaps, had told the officers that were stuck working some kind of punishment shift here that it was day or night outside. They were strategically placed so that even their glow would offer very little comfort to the prisoners that were stuck here. There was rattling, and Daryl realized he was next to a row of solitary confinement cells—if he could even call them that.

The prison was old. It had been built in an era when "prisoners' rights" weren't even the hot-button topic that they'd occasionally been on the news when the world had gone to hell in a handbasket. All over the world, Daryl already knew that prisons were updating and upgrading to make living conditions more amiable for the prisoners. The backwoods prisons of Georgia, though, would be some of the last to be upgraded by the government.

These solitary confinement cells were barely more than metal closets. The only connection they had to the outside world was a small, square, barred window near the top of the door for guards to speak to the prisoner, when they deemed such a thing necessary, and a slot about halfway down, covered with a flap that clasped on the outside, where food would be shoved through at given intervals.

Daryl yanked open the metal door where the clanging was occurring—the lock having been freed probably with the failure of the power—and immediately drove his knife into the skull of the Walker that had been waiting to get out. The bastard had probably thirsted or starved to death in the little metal closet. When the locks had come loose, he'd probably stayed in there to try to hide from whatever was happening outside. Maybe he'd chosen to die instead of face the unknown. It was only in death that he'd probably started rattling the door to his cage. Whatever he'd done in life, especially given the kinds of fairly petty crimes that were handled at a prison like this, he'd probably suffered the most horrific ending that anyone could have wished for him.

Down the line, there was more rattling and rumbling. There were other hallways, too, illuminated by the same tiny little windows, where more of the metal cells would be lined. This whole building was solitary confinement. These sorry bastards were left to die and rot in their tin cans, and most of them had probably stayed, for one reason or another, rather than venture out of the safety of their metal death-closets—all of them given their caskets before their deaths.

The growling Daryl heard, though, wasn't just that contained behind the heavy metal doors.

There were loose Walkers in the corridors. Daryl knew, already, that they were likely guards who had died there for one reason or another, or prisoners who had left their tiny cells only to die as soon as they tasted some kind of relative freedom. Either that, or they were simply stray Walkers that had come in through the damaged part of the prison and somehow meandered blindly to this spot—maybe even smelling the dying prisoners in their cells.

He wanted to prepare himself for what he might see when he came face-to-face with whatever Walkers still hadn't managed to find their way out of this area of the prison since the chaos had calmed—most of them scurrying around in the hallways like rats in the walls, but having moved on with nothing to hold them here—but nothing could prepare him. Nothing could ever prepare him. Not for what he most feared seeing.

Daryl had only to step a little further—just where the corridor turned to a small outcropping of other cells in the dark maze—to find the free-range Walkers. They weren't coming for him. They were bunched together. They seemed practically content to fight each other like blinded rats squabbling over something they could only touch.

Daryl put down four of them before the remaining two even noticed his presence.

The remaining two that turned to face him were just as unknown to him as the ones he'd already put down, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he dropped them to the ground. That sigh of relief, however, was dreadfully short-lived as he realized what had been holding their attention.

There was so little of Oscar left that Daryl wouldn't have been able to identify him confidently if he hadn't been wearing the coveralls with his name on them that the prison had issued him. From the neckline of his shirt, where very little of his chest was left without bite marks present, Daryl could make out a piece of his tattoo.

Daryl's insides quivered oddly—like Jello shaking when the bowl was moved around rapidly. He ignored the sensation and drove his knife into the halfway picked-clean skull of the man so that he couldn't reanimate, if there was even enough left of him for reanimation, and walked a few steps further into the darkness. The light fell on something, and he stooped to pick it up. It was a scarf. Daryl held it up to the light that streamed in from one of the windows—the color of the light, itself, reminding him that day was rapidly passing.

The scarf was dirty, but Daryl recognized it. It was a motley of colors, but it was mostly pink. He'd told Carol, that morning, that she'd looked ridiculous when she'd tied it on her head. She'd declared it was to keep her head from getting sunburned if she was going to stand out there in the sun all day and wash clothes and catch up on chores that had been somewhat neglected in the time she'd spent caring for Hershel.

Daryl had finally admitted that she looked pretty in the "girly" colors, and she'd repaid him for the compliment by wearing it while she'd ridden him through the fastest quickie they could manage.

He stuffed it in his back pocket, his hands shaking, and continued on.

He could barely breathe. He wasn't even sure, honestly, if he was actually breathing, at times.

His knees shook as he walked and, twice, he had to stop and steady himself. Maybe the oxygen was, somehow, depleted in this part of the prison. Maybe it was making him weak. Dizzy. His chest was heaving.

He was barely able to raise his knife to the next Walkers that he saw—four of the many "rats within the walls" that turned to try to catch Daryl as a snack. They had gotten stuck, it seemed, and were bumping around, unable to find their way out of the corridor. Daryl found the strength, somehow, to raise his hands and drop them—one by one—as they came near him. As each face was revealed to him, he was pleased to know that none of them were known to him.

But the final Walker, as it hit the ground, took Daryl down with it.

Not because he got bitten—the Walker never got near him—but because he reached to pull the second knife out of the Walker's shoulder. It was a knife that had apparently gotten stuck there—clearly thrust in a frenzy and not in a careful stab that would have gone through its skull and killed it. It was a knife that, left behind, meant that its owner had gone on, with the halls and the proverbial walls full of Walkers, completely unarmed. It was a knife that, left behind, likely meant that the owner of the knife had gone on without need of a weapon—and the only way that was possible, was if that owner were shuffling along with the Walker crowd.

Overcome, for a moment, with icy cold realization in his gut, Daryl stopped fighting himself. He stopped fighting his feelings. Eventually, he would get up. He would drag Oscar's corpse from the building to bury it properly. He would tell the others what had happened. He would tell Sophia—even though she wouldn't understand—what had happened.

He would face the rest of this day, and the days to come.

But for now, he had to deal with the fact that, somewhere, walking the darkened halls of the prison—blind, alone, and lost in every possibly way—was the love of his life. The only woman he had ever loved in such a way.

And he couldn't even say goodbye.

Beside the corpse that had, more than likely, been the one to steal her knife and her life, Daryl hit his knees, folded into himself, and wept to the floor because there was nothing, and no one, around but the dead to hear him.


	68. Chapter 68

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I posted a chapter yesterday that I don't think everybody read. Make sure you read the last chapter before moving on to this one.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl shook off everyone like a dog shaking water out of his coat as he walked into the cellblock. He held up his hands to get Beth to back away from him. The girl was too touchy-feely, sometimes, and he didn't want a hug or her offered comfort.

He didn't want a single damned thing that any of them could offer him for a moment and, if they bothered him, everything he was feeling could very easily turn into a burning anger. He didn't want to lash out at any of them, either.

He steadied his voice as best he could.

"What's left of Oscar is outside," he said. "Dragged him out. You can bury him. He never turned."

"What about Carol?" Rick asked. Daryl glanced in his direction. He held, in his arms, the infant that Beth had brought to them when they'd first returned to the cell block—it seemed like days ago, now. Daryl couldn't stand to look at the man too long. He shook his head.

"Couldn't find her," Daryl said. "Found her knife an' her scarf."

"I'm sorry, brother," Rick offered.

Although the words actually sounded sincere, Daryl didn't want to hear them right now. He couldn't hear them right now. He shook his head and held up his hand.

"Leave me alone," he said, a word of warning to everyone and not just to Rick. "Where's Sophia?"

"Maggie's got her," Beth said.

Daryl nodded, shook off any questions that tried to follow him, and made his way through the prison in search of Maggie. Immediately upon finding Maggie—clearly entertaining herself with Sophia as she walked around near the door to Lori's cell—Daryl felt his chest seize up again over the sight of Sophia in her arms. He swallowed back, rapidly, against his feelings and held his arms out in the direction of the baby that held her arms out in his direction and called out for him—eternally happy to see him.

"Carol?" Maggie asked. Daryl simply shook his head. He knew that he couldn't speak. Speaking would only unleash everything that he was barely containing for the time being. "Daryl—I'm so sorry," Maggie said. He shook his head again. Taking the little girl, he hugged her to him and continued onward, happier than he'd ever been before that he and Carol had chosen a cell that was somewhat out of the way of the others.

Daryl sat down on the bed in their cell, with Sophia in his lap, and closed his eyes.

He could feel Carol around him. Her very essence hung in the air around him. He could feel her presence. She'd been gone from the space for so little time that it was as if her spirit hadn't had the time to leave yet. Daryl had never noticed how big her presence was, before, because he'd never had to be without it.

The bed was unmade. The sheets were wrinkled and the blanket was tossed around. The pillows were balled up and there were imprints on them—one where she'd rested her head just that morning. The other, where Daryl's head had been resting an hour after that, her pillow left undisturbed, while she'd shown her appreciation for a simple compliment over how pretty colors complimented her beautiful face.

Daryl could still see her smiling at him, hovering over him, satisfied with the pleasure she could give him.

He could smell her in the room. He could smell the scent of her body—all the scents of her body. His mind had recorded everything about her. But, stronger than anything, he could smell the scent of her that was to be found right at the crook of her neck. He smelled it whenever he rested his face there.

Sophia pulled him back into himself.

He was holding her with her feet on his legs. She put her hands on either side of his face and expressed her concern over how sad he looked, identifying his emotions with the declaration that she found "Dada sad." She told him that everything was "OK," and she offered him some sloppy kisses to try to soothe over whatever pain he was suffering.

He opened his eyes to her, not caring to hide the tears from the child that wouldn't judge him. After all, he'd tended her tears each day—and he would tend the ones that she was likely to shed in solidarity with him.

"I love you, Soph," Daryl offered. "And Daddy's always gonna love you, OK? No matter what. OK?"

Sophia's brow was furrowed. Whatever upset Daryl was clearly cause for alarm, and she looked ready to cry with him. Her chin quivered, making it even more evident that she thought Daryl should not cry without her.

"It OK!" She howled at him, much the same as he usually told her whenever she was hurt. "It OK, Dada!"

She repeated her promise to him a few times, determined to do everything in her power to soothe him from his hurt. He shook his head at her.

"It ain't OK, Soph," he told her. "It ain't. It ain't never gonna be OK again, and you don't even understand that. You can't even—you can't even understand that. And when you realize she's gone? I ain't never gonna get you to understand that she ain't comin' back an' it ain't fair to neither one of us."

Sophia's bottom lip rolled out. Her face wrinkled in the threat to cry. She wasn't sad about Carol, though. She didn't know what had happened. She wouldn't know what had happened—not for a long time. Daryl already knew that she would cry for days—she would look for her mother—she would have trouble sleeping and she would fight over wanting to have milk instead of formula and baby food. She would be miserable, and Daryl would be miserable as well—because they both needed Carol.

But Sophia was young and resilient. In a few weeks, or maybe even less, she would simply adapt. She would ask for Carol less. She would eat what she was given. Soon, she would play and laugh and her life would be as normal as it could be, because she was a baby and she simply accepted whatever normal was placed in front of her. Her heart would heal faster than Daryl's would. He doubted his would ever heal at all.

Someday, when she was older, she would ask about her mother, and Daryl would tell her about Carol, but it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't mean the same to her as it meant to him. She would never remember the woman who had given her life and who would have traded her own life for Sophia's a thousand times.

"You the only thing I got left of her," Daryl offered, hugging the little girl to him. "And—I'ma love you forever, Sophia, OK? Daddy's sad, you right about that. But I'ma love you forever."

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It felt like days had passed, but it had likely only been hours. It was dark in the cell when Maggie interrupted the silence.

"Daryl?" Maggie asked.

"Go away," Daryl offered.

"I brought—formula for Sophia," Maggie said. "And food for both of you. She has to eat. You both do."

"Leave it where you standin'," Daryl said. "I'll get it."

Sophia was probably growing hungry, but she hadn't started to complain about it, yet. She was sitting in the bed, playing with her toys, while Daryl sat with her. She didn't seem to care that it was dark.

"I'll bring it in for you," Maggie said. She ignored him entirely and came into the cell.

"You don't fuckin' listen real good," Daryl offered.

Maggie smiled to herself.

"I've heard that before," she said. She picked up the lighter on the bedside table and lit the camping lantern. Daryl watched her as she put the lighter back down. She reached to pick up the scarf that Carol had been wearing—Daryl had put it on the bedside table.

"Don't touch that!" Daryl barked at her before she let her fingers land on it. She pulled her hand back, listening to his command this time.

"Carol had it on this morning," she offered.

"Found it," Daryl said.

"In the solitary confinement cells?" Maggie asked.

"Fuckin' tombs," Daryl said.

"They buried Oscar," Maggie said. "They marked the grave. We put up a little cross for Carol, too."

"She ain't buried out there," Daryl said.

"Just to remember her," Maggie said. "The baby's strong. She's doing well."

"Good," Daryl said. "I'm sure everybody's real happy."

"Lori looks like she's going to pull through the surgery," Maggie said.

"You gonna fuckin' understand if I don't care about the nightly news, ain't you?" Daryl asked. He reached for the food that Maggie had put down and she passed him the jar and spoon. As soon as Sophia saw evidence of a meal, she perked up. She still didn't understand that her mother was gone. For her, perhaps, her mother was just busy. She'd be back, as she always was, when Sophia needed her. It wouldn't be until Daryl washed her down, slipped her into her pajamas, and offered her that formula in place of the warm milk she usually drew from her mother's breast while Carol cuddled her to sleep, that Sophia was going to realize that something was absolutely wrong in her world. For now, she was content to let Daryl feed her before her bath.

"Daryl—I just wanted to say that, we're all sorry about Carol," Maggie said.

"Not nearly as sorry as me," Daryl said. "I'ma check again in the morning. Walk the halls a bit. She's in there—I know she is."

"You don't have to put yourself through that," Maggie said.

"I gotta put her down if she's walkin'," Daryl said. "She wouldn't wanna be that. She wouldn't wanna exist like that."

"We could do it. Glenn and T-Dog. They could get the prisoners to help. You don't have to be the one to do this."

"That's just the damn thing," Daryl said. His chest was tightening and he stopped talking for a second. He didn't want to do this. He didn't care if Sophia saw him cry. He didn't care if she knew the sound of his voice as he gasped for air through lungs that were failing him. He didn't want Maggie to see it, though. He didn't want the whole lot of them knowing how weak he truly was. For just a second, he focused on feeding Sophia, and he smiled to himself when she hummed her approval over the sweet potatoes and carrots that she seemed to like very much that night. She rocked back and forth and opened her mouth as soon as she'd swallowed to show that she was enthusiastic about her meal. In spite of all the pain inside him, Daryl smiled to himself. He could see Carol in Sophia's face and her mannerisms. In that way, Carol would never leave him. He cleared his throat as his sadness released his vocal cords a little. "I gotta do it. Ain't nobody else gonna—handle it right. They ain't gonna handle her right. I gotta look for her in the morning—if you or Beth can just watch Sophia for a while."

"Of course," Maggie said quickly. "Of course, we will." Maggie moved from where she was leaning, arms crossed tightly across her chest, to the bed. Without invitation—much like she'd done everything during this particular visit—she sat down next to Daryl on the bed. "We cared about Carol. And we care about you and—Sophia."

Daryl thought about snapping at her. He thought about throwing it in her face that he'd never felt that they'd supported Carol enough, even though the Greenes had supported her much more than many of the others had since the rock quarry. Instead, he decided to accept her words for what they were meant to be. They were an attempt to comfort him.

"Thank you," he said.

"Daryl—I talked to Glenn. And we were going to wait because we know you're upset, but it might help you to feel…a little better. A little less overwhelmed. But…"

"You got somethin' to say, then I'd appreciate it if you'd just spit it out," Daryl said, scraping the spoon around the inside of the jar to offer Sophia the last of the first jar of food before he moved on to the second that rested in his lap.

"We'll—help with Sophia," Maggie said. "We'll take care of her. Make sure she gets what she needs."

"Appreciate it. I don't imagine it's gonna take me more'n a couple hours to check that buildin' out," Daryl said.

"I meant—for good, Daryl," Maggie said. "It's one thing for you to take care of her with Carol's help, but…she was never your responsibility and it's too much for you. Glenn and I would be happy to take Sophia. You'd always be a big part of her life, of course…but…we want to help you."

Daryl's stomach seized up painfully as the impact of her implications hit him.

"Fuck you," he said, without bothering to put too much force behind the words. It didn't even disturb Sophia's meal.

"Daryl…" Maggie said.

"No," Daryl said, feeling the tension rising in him, but trying to keep it in check so that he didn't upset Sophia by accident. "Fuck you an' anybody else that thinks you know more about Sophia than I do. She's my daughter."

"Carol's gone," Maggie said quietly. "And you don't have to try to take care of her alone."

"Then you wanna help me, you offer to fuckin' help me," Daryl said. "To watch her while I do what I gotta do. While I'm huntin' the fuckin' food you assholes need to live. You don't try to take her away from me. Because I ain't gonna let that happen. I'ma tell you right now that I—I ain't gonna let it happen. And none of you is fuckin' man enough to take her away from me."

Maggie held her hands up in a clear sign of surrender.

"Nobody wants to take her away from you," she said. "We wanted you to know that—you don't have to do this."

"I do," Daryl said. "Sophia needs me. And—I need her. So…you just get the hell outta here, an' you tell anybody else that wants to take her away that they can go an' fuck themselves while you're at it."

"Nobody's going to take her away," Maggie offered, but she did stand up.

"I know they ain't," Daryl responded.

"We are here to help you, though," Maggie offered, quieter than before. "We'll watch her in the morning. We'll even help you look for Carol's body, if you're determined to do this."

"Get outta here," Daryl demanded. Sophia, entirely unbothered by anything that had taken place around her while she devoured her food and sat in Daryl's lap, occasionally using his shirt as a napkin, latched onto the words and barked them out at Maggie.

Her hands still raised in a sign of surrender; Maggie left.

"Don't worry, Soph," Daryl said to the little girl in his lap who was clearly not worried about anything at the moment. "Ain't nothin' or nobody gonna get between us. I ain't goin' nowhere. Not for good. It don't matter what they say. We'll figure it out."


	69. Chapter 69

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I posted one yesterday that I think people missed. I also posted one earlier today. Please don't forget to read those before you read this one (and leave me some love if you feel supportive and inclined).**

 **I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl had been nervous to hand Sophia over to anyone, in the morning, to free himself up for going into the solitary confinement hallways—which he couldn't help but think of as concrete and metal tombs—to search for Carol. He'd put the trip into the hallways off for longer than he meant to, taking his time to dress and feed a cranky Sophia who was beginning to be violently angry that her Mama didn't appear, no matter how much she called for her, to give her the milk she begged for piteously.

The only reason that Daryl had finally passed her over and had taken the flashlight and his weapons to go on his search, was because Hershel, himself, had found him hiding in the cell with Sophia.

"Can I come in?" Hershel asked, stopping at the door.

"Might as well," Daryl said. "Everybody else does what the hell they want." He immediately felt sorry for snapping at the old man. "You ain't deserved that," he offered. "I'm sorry."

"And I'm sorry," Hershel said, working his way into the room on his crutches. He sat on the bed that Daryl had made up—not that he nor Sophia had done much sleeping the night before. She'd only slept when she'd cried herself to sleep, and he'd never managed to do that for himself. "I suppose it's Maggie that deserved that more than me?"

"She's at the top of my list," Daryl offered.

"She meant well," Hershel said. "Maggie's heart is often in the right place, even if her head isn't always. I blame that on the fact that she lost her mother too young—and I wasn't always the best substitute for a mother. Maybe I forgot to teach her a few lessons, here and there, that she might have used."

Daryl's stomach clenched at the thought. There was so much of it, at the moment, that touched something inside of him.

"You done OK," he said.

"And so will you," Hershel said. "Raising daughters—especially when you're grieving and they're grieving, isn't easy. But there's nothing more rewarding than seeing them grow into young women—even if they grow into young women who missed a lesson, here or there."

"They wanna take her away from me," Daryl said.

"Nobody's going to take your daughter away from you," Hershel said. "She's right where she needs to be. You're doing everything you can for her, and you'll continue to do everything you can for her. For now, though, the best thing that you can do for her is to focus on yourself, just a little."

"I ain't got time," Daryl said. "I gotta—look for Carol."

"That's what I mean," Hershel said. "Closure is—so important. It doesn't stop the hurt, mind you. I still miss Josephine. Even though I loved Annette, I never stopped loving Jo." He laughed to himself. "I never stopped loving Annette, either. It's funny how hearts work. You think you've loved all you can…"

"I ain't never gonna love nobody but Carol," Daryl said, matter-of-factly. "And Sophia, but that's different. It's a different kinda love."

Hershel didn't try to argue with Daryl in any way. He didn't tell him some nonsense about loving again. He simply accepted what he'd said.

"My girls—are what keep me going. Every day."

Daryl gathered Sophia up, dragging her out from where she was crawling under the bed, and then he bent down to reach under the bed and grab the plastic dog that she'd been going after. Carol usually kept their cell meticulously clean—sweeping it every day with a broom—and there was nothing more than a little dust stuck on the dog. Daryl brushed it against his shirt to clean it before offering it over to Sophia's outstretched hands.

"Thanks, Dada," she offered.

"You welcome, Soph," Daryl said, kissing her forehead. Her face was still damp from her last bout of angry crying, but she was calm for a minute. He looked at Hershel. "I got nothin' if I don't got Sophia."

"It looks to me like you've got her," Hershel said. "And she's got you. She'll be here when you get back." He smiled at Daryl. "I could stand to spend some time relaxing in my cell anyway. I'm exhausted after everything with Lori. Maybe Sophia would like to spend a little time playing in Papa Hershel's cell."

"Can you handle it? With your leg?" Daryl asked.

"I'll get Beth to help me if I can't," Hershel said. "But you need to take care of Daryl for a little while. Take as long as you need. As many days as you need. Son—there's no time limit on grieving. And whenever it gets dark, Sophia's going to be waiting on you."

Daryl thanked Hershel. He helped the old man up with one arm, still holding Sophia, and he followed him down to his cell. He thanked him, told Sophia that she should behave for him, and slipped away while Hershel, having dragged the girl into his lap, distracted the baby with a board book he kept in his cell to read with her.

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Daryl sat out on the grass in the failing light of the day.

Sophia ran around, first in one direction, and then the other, running off all the energy that she'd accumulated through the day. There was something she was chasing, yelling at it that she was "gonna get it," and, from her movements, Daryl could assume that it was either a frog or a grasshopper. It didn't matter, and Daryl was content to let her play with it.

She needed to burn some energy, and he needed a moment away from everyone else.

Daryl sat cross-legged on the grass. He reached a hand out and put his hand on the little wooden cross. He rubbed his fingers against the grain of the wood.

With the little rocks that Sophia had found for him earlier, Daryl had made a little "C" on the ground for Carol. He reached in his pocket and pulled the crumpled Cherokee Rose he'd found on a vine. He placed it in the center of the "C" before touching the cross again.

He wasn't sitting on a grave. There was no body buried there. He was sitting, rather, at a memorial for Carol.

"Found this rose," Daryl said. "It was growin' through the fence. Right over there. Right—near the buildin'. Made me think of you. Back when Sophia was so sick. Made me think of how—you treated me like I was some kinda fuckin' hero. What a fuckin' hero I am now, huh? Couldn't save you from them nasty ass fuckers. Wasn't there to save you. Now I ain't even found you so you don't gotta walk around like one of 'em. I know—know you wouldn't want that. I put down three dozen of 'em lookin' for you today. But there's so damned many of 'em in the halls an' they go here an' there. I had to stop lookin' today because it was gettin' dark an' Sophia needed to run just a lil' bit. I knew you'd—you'd understand that. You hated her bein' cooped up. I'ma find you tomorrow, though. I promise you that. I'ma find you. Maybe that's what the hell the flower was for—just—that I'ma find you so you can have some peace."

Daryl broke off. He ripped a few blades of grass from the ground and shredded them between his fingertips while he dealt with the emotions bubbling up inside him. He didn't want to admit that he really wished that he could find some peace for himself, as well, but he doubted that would ever happen.

Daryl sat there a moment longer, seeking some kind of solace in a little wooden cross and a "C" made out of pebbles, before he got to his feet.

The sun had almost set. Everyone else had gone inside.

Daryl walked over to where Sophia was playing. He identified that she was, in fact, chasing around a toad who was trying to escape her while he hunted bugs in the tall grass.

"Come on, you mighty hunter," Daryl said, scooping the little girl up. She cackled at him and he turned her around and settled her on his hip before he kissed her face. "You fuckin' filthy and that lil' toad's got work to do. Let's go get a bath."

"I hungry," Sophia offered.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I know you are," Daryl said. "You always hungry. Don't worry. Daddy's gonna get you somethin' to eat, too."

"Milk," Sophia offered, somewhat mournfully. It had been at least an hour since she'd cried for Carol. She was likely due for another round, and they were sure to have another long night.

"Somethin' like that," Daryl said, wanting to put it off for as long as he possibly could. "Come on—let's get'cha what'cha need, Soph."

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Daryl could tell, just by the light that came in through the high windows of solitary confinement, that it was afternoon. It was maybe even mid-afternoon.

The very sight of the sunlight streaming through the windows—though necessary for him to keep looking—inspired an inexplicable rage in him.

In the two days that he'd been searching for Carol, he'd walked every square inch of that part of the prison. He'd assured himself that it was closed off from the rest of the prison. The part that was damaged allowed Walkers in, but the raised-up nature of the rubble kept them from escaping. Like the back of the prison yard, where the fence had been destroyed, the hole created a kind of spillway. They could get in, but they couldn't get out.

There were probably nearly a fifty Walkers in the halls of the building—maybe there were even more that were closed into the cells. He could hear them growling and grumbling. He could hear doors rattling and feet shuffling on the ground. He'd walked circles, following their sounds, and he'd killed every Walker he'd seen. Every female he came across, no matter her stature or other defining characteristics, made his heart stop suddenly in his chest. He couldn't breathe until he'd verified that she wasn't Carol.

He had no idea how many he'd put down. Bodies littered the corridor floors all around the building. Still, none of it brought him any relief. If anything, it created a boiling anger inside of him.

He couldn't accomplish anything. He couldn't do anything for Carol. He couldn't even bring her peace in death because he couldn't find her.

Daryl made his way back to the now familiar little section of the building where he'd once found Oscar's body. A few steps away from there, he found the Walker that had killed Carol. He kicked it, as he passed by it, furious at it for having taken from him the only woman that he'd ever loved.

Carol had been precious to him. More precious than he'd even known, and he'd known she was practically what kept his heart beating in his chest and kept him looking forward to waking up in the morning. Now she was gone because of this gutless, mindless, rotting bastard.

And Daryl couldn't even lay her to rest.

Daryl dropped down on the floor and sat with his back against the wall. He'd killed so many Walkers that day that he'd lost count of them. He should have found her by now. Killing them made him feel a little better, for just a second, as he got out some of his pent-up anger and aggression, but killing all the Walkers in the world wouldn't bring her back.

He frowned at the floor. From one of the two sheaths that he wore on his belt, he pulled her knife. He should have found her a better knife. One with a better handle. The handle on this one, when it got wet, was slippery. That's what had happened. He was sure of it. She'd been fighting her way through a stirred-up bunch of them, and she'd lost her grip on the knife when she'd most needed it. They had boxes of assorted knives they'd gathered at places—surely ones with better handles. It was his own good-for-nothingness that had kept him from recognizing that she needed a better knife.

If he'd found her a better knife, she might have still been there with him.

Daryl reached his hand back and pounded on the concrete wall behind him. He growled, gritting his teeth, against the pain. He liked the satisfying pain in his hand. At the very least, it distracted him for a second from the overwhelming pain in his chest. He growled loudly, not really afraid of the Walkers that might come for him—he'd cleared most of them out, he felt, and maybe she would find him if he couldn't find her.

"Carol!" He yelled. He growled again, angry at the world for all the shit it had served him. Angry that he had to lose what mattered so much to him when other people got to keep everything—though he hated to insinuate that they were less-deserving. He probably didn't deserve to have ever even had her in the first place, but, having had her, he wished he'd never had to let her go. "Carol!" He called out again, this time feeling the something inside his chest snap that gave way every now and again.

He stopped and, for a moment, focused on not crying—not again. It wasn't decent to cry as much as he'd cried in the past few days. His brother would have kicked his ass for crying as much as he'd done—but he never was as strong as Merle, and hurt just made the tears come for him sometimes, especially when it was a hurt like this—a hurt that he could barely stand.

When the echoing of his own voice stopped, Daryl heard the distant growling of Walkers. They wouldn't find him. The echo wouldn't bring them to him. It would only confuse them. They weren't near him. He heard the clanging, too, of Walkers that were determined to get out of their traps—the heavy doors were to heavy to push open in their weakened states.

One such door was hardly two feet from him. He heard it, and then he watched it. It pushed open—just barely—and slammed back shut, but not solidly enough to seal. The action was repeated. Three times. Four.

Daryl got up and walked over there. He paced back in forth in front of the door. He was angry at the Walker for disturbing him. He was angry at the Walker for not realizing that he needed a moment.

He was angry at the world, really, but the rotting Walker would do.

Daryl palmed the handle of Carol's knife. He tightened his grip on the handle. He ripped open the door of the metal cell and stood, waiting for the Walker to charge him. The Walker, though, neither charged him nor fell out the door. The Walker that had been pushing the door open was crumpled on the floor. The light barely shined in and fell across it.

Daryl's heart stopped as he recognized the clothing. He dropped down, quickly, to be closer to the Walker.

She turned toward him. There was no snarling. There was no biting. There was only the breathy attempt to say something. She'd spent all her strength, though, trying to move the door. She'd spent her strength telling him that she was there in the only way she could after two and a half days without food or water. Daryl touched her face. He held it, for just a second, and assured himself that she was alive.

She was barely alive, but she was alive.

He didn't have time for hesitation.

He sheathed her knife, put his crossbow across his back, and scooped her out of the cell. She barely seemed to weigh as much as Sophia in his arms, and she sagged.

He readjusted her, making sure his grip on her was good, and he hugged her against his chest as she let go of the last bit of consciousness to which she'd been clinging.

"You don't get to do that," Daryl said, moving as quickly as he could through the corridors, headed straight for the exit and sure that he was capable of simply barreling through any Walker that dared to get in his way at the moment. "You can't! You gotta stay with me! You don't get to do this, Carol! You gotta fuckin'—you gotta stay with me!"

Daryl was almost certain he'd never run as quickly as he did that day. Practically running backwards, he slammed through the metal door and into the sunshine of the yard. He skidded on his feet as he turned and ran as fast as he could toward the cell block. People yelled at him. He heard nothing of it.

All he heard was the pounding of his heart in his ears, his own voice crying out for Hershel, and his brain's whispered prayer to allow him to cash in on any good he might have coming to him for a lifetime.


	70. Chapter 70

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I'm just letting you know that this (and the aftermath) is the last major event before this story will be drawing to a close. It'll leave a small window of time before the start of "Daddy." As I mentioned before, there may be some things that aren't perfectly matched up between the two stories. I apologize for that. It is what it is, though. I appreciate your understanding.**

 **I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

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They covered the bed in towels before Daryl put Carol down. She was filthy, and the towels would at least make cleaning-up easier. Hershel barked out the order to Beth—who was close on their heels—that they would need lots of rags, towels, and at least two or three buckets of hot water. In addition, they were going to need broth and purified drinking water.

His command for other medical items had been tossed at Maggie even as he'd shuffled down toward the cell, moving as quickly as his crutches allowed him.

Daryl barely got Carol spread out on the bed, and got Hershel situated where he could sit on the edge of the bed and have easy access to her, before Maggie came into the cell and put down two bags with an air that simply said "I had no idea what you wanted, so I brought it all." What she actually said, though, was "do you need anything else, Daddy?"

"See how Bethie's coming with the drinking water and the soup," Hershel said. Daryl moved his bags closer so that Hershel could easily dig through them for supplies. He was desperate for answers—for some kind of progress—but he also knew that the man needed space and time to work. Daryl hovered, leaning over Hershel, as he listened to Carol's chest.

"She OK?" Daryl asked.

"Her pulse is rapid. Her breathing is fast and shallow. Her throat is raw. She's suffering from severe dehydration, but she's alive," Hershel said.

For now, it would clearly have to be enough. The hot water came before Hershel was barely through saying the words. At least, some of the hot water came. Beth declared that she'd bring more before she practically ran into her sister bringing drinking water.

"Soup's warming up, Daddy," Maggie said.

"Don't get it too hot," Hershel said. "She's not going to mind right now. It's better if it's not hot enough to burn her."

Daryl watched as Hershel took items from his bag. He filled a hypodermic syringe and, cleaning Carol's hand well with soap and water, found a place he deemed suitable for inserting the needle. If she noticed, she didn't let on.

"What are you doin' to her?" Daryl asked.

"It's just pain medication," Hershel said. "There's some leftover from what we found for Lori, but we won't tell Rick."

"You think she's in pain?" Daryl asked.

"She's been in there for two days," Hershel said. "She hasn't eaten, hasn't drank anything, and she's been wearing her own soiled clothes. She hasn't nursed Sophia, either. She doesn't have to be conscious for me to know there's pain. What I gave her will take the edge off and help her relax, at the very least."

Part of Daryl practically wanted to bark at Hershel that he was in the way while he continued his inspection of Carol. He wanted his own hands on her. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to check her for scratches, himself, and he wanted to see if he could coax her to wake. The other part of him, though, wanted Hershel to take his time with his thorough inspection, because he wanted the absolute guarantee—or at least as close as Hershel could give—that she was fine.

While Daryl waited, pacing as much as the small space allotted to him in the cell would allow, the drinking water and warmed broth arrived. In addition, three large buckets of steaming hot water arrived, and Maggie piled high the towels and rags that Hershel requested.

When Hershel had sent Maggie away, saying that he had all that he needed for the moment, he produced a medicine dropper from his bag. He offered it to Daryl.

"What's this?" Daryl asked, reaching for it.

"If you're serious about saving her life, it's going to take time and patience," Hershel said. "Both of which I think you have in abundance."

"What'cha want me to do?" Daryl asked. There was no need to address any of what Hershel had said. He was right. Daryl could be as patient and diligent as was needed, and Hershel absolutely knew that he wanted to save Carol's life.

"I don't have anything to give her intravenously," Hershel said. "When she builds enough strength to come around, she's going to want to eat and drink quickly. She needs to go slow. You have to control her. Otherwise, she'll just get sick, and that won't do her any good."

"I understand," Daryl offered.

"Alternate droppers of water and broth," Hershel said. He demonstrated what he wanted Daryl to do. Carol, at this point, was more like a rag doll than a human. Daryl didn't know if she was entirely unconscious, or if she was actually caught in that uncomfortable state in between consciousness and unconsciousness. He reasoned she'd be trapped there, for a while, until she could gather a little strength. "You're going to have to help her swallow, at least until she wakes enough to do it on her own. Rub her throat—just here. That will stimulate her desire to swallow. Be slow so she doesn't choke. You can take breaks to keep the intake slow and steady."

Daryl nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "OK. I can do that."

"She doesn't have much of a fever," Hershel said, continuing to rhythmically alternate droppers of liquid as he talked Daryl through the information that he wanted to share with him. "That tells me that there are no scratches or bites that we're missing. The bit of fever she has is coming from her breasts, at least in my opinion. We need to get some of the pressure off by helping her get rid of some of the milk. Then, when you think she's ready, Sophia can help relieve the rest of the pressure."

Daryl cleared his throat.

"You wanna—like milk her?" He asked. His gut tightened and his face warmed.

"I can do it for her if you're uncomfortable, son," Hershel said sincerely. "Sophia won't be able to latch well with her breasts this engorged, and she'll appreciate the relief sooner rather than later."

"I can do it," Daryl assured him. He'd done it, accidentally, plenty of times. He was sure that he could do it on purpose, this once, to earn some relief for Carol.

Hershel nodded.

"I'll send Maggie and Beth in here to bathe her, if you'd like," Hershel said. "Being clean will do her a world of good."

"I can do that, too," Daryl assured him.

"Son—you might not realize that…that smell? It's soured milk and evidence that she's soiled herself."

"Like she had a choice," Daryl mused. "Pitch black in them little cages." He shook his head. "I ain't afraid of milk, Hershel. And I ain't squeamish about piss and shit and anything else she might have to offer me, neither."

"I just thought she might feel embarrassed," Hershel said.

"She's gonna feel more embarrassed if it's Beth and Maggie washin' her up," Daryl insisted. "If she's embarrassed with me, she can talk to me about it. It ain't the same with them."

Hershel nodded again, ceding to Daryl.

"Do you think that Sophia will be interested in nursing after you've gotten Carol bathed and settled?" Hershel asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"There ain't much else that Sophia's been interested in for days," Daryl said. "And it don't matter what she's eat, there's always room for milk."

Hershel laughed to himself.

"You'll let us know when you're ready for her," Hershel said. "I'm sorry there's nothing more that I can do. She needs fluids and rest more than anything else."

"And she's gonna be OK?" Daryl asked.

"She's alive," Hershel said. "I believe that—she stayed alive, maybe, knowing that you'd come and get her. She's here now, so I'm simply going to have to assume that she'll continue to stay alive. She has a very strong will, and, sometimes, that's all it takes. She'll feel better when she's clean and her breasts aren't so full. You'll keep hydrating her, slowly, and she'll rest to build her strength back up. In a couple of days, she should be fine—barring anything unexpected."

Daryl nodded. He thanked Hershel when the old man stopped urging Carol to swallow droppers of liquid and passed the dropper to him. Daryl immediately took his place next to Carol and started peeling off her clothes, determined to get her bathed so that he could focus on attending to her other needs.

"Daryl…" Hershel said, as he was leaving the cell. Daryl hummed at him in question and paused in his work. "Let me know the first time she urinates," Hershel said.

"That important?" Daryl asked. Hershel nodded.

"It will tell me that—her system is functioning. That it—hasn't simply started to shut down."

Daryl's stomach tightened. He got the feeling, all of a sudden, that maybe things weren't a hundred percent fine. Maybe they weren't entirely out of the woods. He appreciated, though, the fact that Hershel wasn't focusing on that. Hershel wasn't pushing the warning down his throat.

It was more important, right now, to look at what he could do for Carol and to focus on that.

Daryl closed the curtain to allow Carol what privacy he could, and he alternated feeding her water and soup with stripping her out of her clothing. When her soiled things were piled up—ready to either be thrown away or washed, as the case may be, Daryl spent a few more moments focused on feeding Carol before he moved to washing her body and her hair, drying her, and dressing her in clean, soft clothes that she liked for sleeping.

After he moved her onto the clean towels—the soiled ones going to the wash pile with the clothes—and after she was dressed in her clean pajamas, Carol started to stir. As soon as Daryl noticed her movements, he washed his hands and returned to gather her up into his arms.

"It's OK," he said, keeping his voice low. "You're OK now. I got you. You need to rest, but I got you."

Carol turned her head and opened her eyes for the first time since Daryl had grabbed her up from the solitary confinement cell that had nearly become her coffin. She looked confused. Bewildered. Maybe she was even blinded by the light in the cell. The lamp's light, though dim, was still brighter than the almost absolute darkness that she'd been in for the past two and a half days.

Daryl couldn't help but smile at simply seeing her eyes open.

"Hey," he said. He suddenly wished he could think of something better to say. He wished he could say everything that he'd thought—during all those hours he'd spent thinking that he'd never see her again or, if he did see her again, he'd see her as one of those creatures—but he couldn't manage to bring a single other word out of his tight throat and onto his tongue.

Somehow, though, it seemed to be enough. A faint smile brought up the corners of Carol's mouth, although very slightly.

"Hey," she rasped.

Her voice was almost gone. Her throat was raw. Hershel had ticked that off in his quick inspection of her. There was no telling how much energy she'd spent trying to call out for Daryl. On top of that, she was severely dehydrated. Daryl reminded himself of everything she was still facing. Daryl shook his head at her.

"Don't use your voice," Daryl said. "Don't use your strength. There's time for that. For now, you just gotta rest. OK?"

Carol nodded her head and Daryl thought about kissing her. As though he hadn't kissed her a thousand times before, his heart pounded wildly in his chest at the thought that he might kiss her again. He'd been sure that he'd lost her, so it felt almost like a first kiss—but a first kiss with the knowledge of what losing her felt like.

He pressed his lips gently to hers, not wanting to even accidentally hurt her or overwhelm her, and she reciprocated. When he lowered her back onto the bed and against the pillows, he broke the kiss.

"Time for that, too," he offered. "You gotta rest. I'm sorry—I did what I could about your milk. Was as gentle as I could be…and I'm sorry if it weren't so gentle. I'ma take all this out to be washed. Dump these buckets. Let you rest. But—you think you might be up to…feedin' Soph with all that milk you got left?"

Despite the absolute exhaustion on her features, Carol's face lit up at the mention of Sophia. She nodded her head and smiled, but she obeyed Daryl's command to save her voice and her strength. Daryl nodded his understanding.

"Close your eyes," he said. "Get some sleep. I'ma help you get more of that soup and water. Maybe get you a mug so I can help you drink it while you gettin' stronger. Bring Soph in. In the meantime, you get some sleep. OK?" Carol nodded at him again. Daryl gathered up the soiled towels, rags, and clothing. He'd make a couple of trips to carry it all outside, but, for the moment, he settled for placing it all in the corridor so that he wouldn't bother Carol with every trip back. On his last trip to move things out of the space so that she could rest, he watched her for just a second before pushing their curtain aside again.

Her breathing wasn't visibly as rapid as it had been earlier. She looked relaxed. She had her eyes closed, prepared to do what he'd asked of her.

"I love you," he offered, not even knowing if she could hear him.

She smiled softly in what he would have sworn was sleep. She was only playing possum—doing everything she could to make him happy by following his orders.

"I love you, too," she said, her voice coming out as nothing more than a whisper so that she didn't actually have to employ her vocal cords and go against Daryl's wishes.

Daryl smiled to himself and slipped out of the cell to clean up before he went to tell Sophia the good news.


	71. Chapter 71

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. As I said, we have a little aftermath to handle here before we reach the end, but it's close for this one. Have no fear, though, I have plenty of other stories for you to read (that I hope you will enjoy), including the sequel to this one for those who have not started it.**

 **I published a chapter last night, so if you missed that one, please be sure to read it before reading this one.**

 **I also have an AN at the end for the guest (and anyone else) who is concerned about the verisimilitude of the events in the story surrounding Carol's condition/time in the tombs.**

 **For anyone who doesn't want to read it, I'll simply offer you the reminder that this is fiction and subject to my vision. I do not claim to be a professional, nor do I claim to be an expert in every single possible thing that might arise in the ZA. A little suspension of disbelief for the sake of enjoying a nearly 200,000-word fic (or any of my fics), which I wrote you for the rock-bottom price of absolutely free, is always very much appreciated.**

 **I hope you enjoy the chapter, at any rate. Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl moved buckets, dumped out dirty water, and rinsed the buckets with other stored creek water so that they could be used again to haul and store more water for boiling. After the two quick trips to move the buckets, he gathered up the soiled clothes and towels to carry them down to where they piled dirty clothes and linens for washing.

Now that things were slowly returning to something like a normal state in the prison—and now that his ears were open to life around him and the world didn't seem muffled by the sorrow inside him—Daryl could hear that everything was coming back to life. From one cell, the new baby cried out—a little girl that Rick and Lori had named Judith—and Rick hushed her. Lori was still recovering from her surgery, and she was generally in a somewhat sour mood with Rick since Shane's death, so Rick was tending the baby away from her company.

Outside, where Daryl left the buckets, Sophia had been happily playing with Beth and anyone who would entertain her, so Daryl decided there was no rush to haul her inside. She could wait the ten or fifteen minutes it would take him to finish cleaning things up.

On his final trip to the laundry room, though, Daryl stopped when he heard his name casually drifting among the noise of life as they knew it. He followed the sound, not that he had far to go, and stepped back out of sight once he realized who was talking. Maggie had very clearly sought an audience with her father, in his cell, alone.

"…if she dies?"

"Daryl's taking care of Carol. She's safe now. She'll get rehydrated, and she'll rest. She'll be up and about tomorrow. Within a couple of days, you won't be able to tell that she spent nearly three days lost in the tombs," Hershel offered.

"What if something else happens?" Maggie asked.

Daryl slipped into the neighboring cell. It was empty for the time being, though Beth had claimed it to be out from under her father. She wouldn't mind Daryl using it for cover for a few moments—at least that's what he told himself.

It was a private conversation, and he already knew that it was going to hurt his feelings and that he wasn't going to like what was going to be said between the father and daughter, but he couldn't help himself. He told himself that, beyond morbid curiosity, it was good for him to know what was being said in private—it would prepare him if he ever needed to fight against it in public.

There was very little privacy in the prison. Sounds of all sorts and voices carried long and easily. From the shared wall in Beth's cell, Daryl could practically hear the conversation as though he were sitting on Hershel's bed.

"We'd waste what time we have left if we were trying to come up with answers to all the possible 'what ifs' we might face, Maggie," Hershel said with a sigh.

"Daryl isn't exactly the greatest influence for a child," Maggie said. She lowered her voice like, for one moment, she was worried someone might hear her. Daryl did hear her, and what she said made his stomach ache and made him feel slightly nauseous.

Hershel laughed.

"If we're holding mistakes—or even perceived mistakes—against those who wish to become parents, Margaret, then your sister and you wouldn't even be here. I think it might do you well to remember that," Hershel offered.

"It's different, Daddy," Maggie said. "Lori's brought it up, too. It's just—Daryl's a little…rough around the edges."

Hershel laughed to himself.

"Maybe that's what we all need more of," Hershel offered.

"Sophia's already using profanity," Maggie said.

"Some of that comes from Beth's songs as much as it comes from Daryl," Hershel said. "Don't think that I don't hear it. Still—all things considered, I'm not certain that profanity is a genuine concern anymore."

"He lets her play with dead animals," Maggie said.

Daryl frowned to himself. He felt stuck in his spot. He felt like he wanted to move. He wanted to slip quietly out of Beth's cell. He wanted to drop off the laundry he was still holding. He wanted to find Sophia, dust her off from playing outside, find a mug that nobody was using, and carry the little girl to the cell where her mother would be happy to hold her and nurse her. He wanted to sit and urge Carol to drink soup and water—he wanted to watch her get her strength back with each swallow and each passing moment of rest and the realization that she was safe.

He wanted to ignore the fact that Maggie needed to vent her concerns to her father. He wanted to ignore the fact that he had a gnawing feeling in his gut that everyone at the prison was looking at him—expecting him to fail as a father. Maybe they already believed that he was failing as a father.

He corrected Sophia's profanity, sometimes, but he wasn't too bothered by the occasional repeated word. He let her come into contact with the world around her—even letting her see Walkers at a safe distance—because he was afraid of sheltering her. He let her fall down. He let her get hurt. And then, he did his best to teach her that boo boos would heal and that he'd be there to get her out of trouble if she couldn't get herself out.

But he wanted her to learn that she could get herself out.

Maybe Maggie was right, though, and he wasn't meant for fatherhood. Maybe he was bound to fail Sophia in one way or another—especially if anything ever happened that truly took Carol away from them both.

He wanted to leave the cell and to stop thinking about it, but he found that his feet were as firmly planted there as if he'd grown roots in the time that he'd been listening to the conversation.

"Daryl hunts," Hershel said. "And we're lucky that he does. More than once we've relied on what Daryl brings back to keep us all from starving. And he keeps Sophia with him while he cleans his kills. That's true. It's usually to allow Carol to attend to her chores."

"Watching him clean is one thing," Maggie said. "Playing with the carcasses?"

Hershel laughed again.

"Any child wants to mimic what their parents do," Hershel said. "That's how they learn. Maggie—you don't remember it, but you were helping me on the farm before you could barely stand up in your boots."

"Feeding cows is one thing," Maggie said.

"There are different skills for different situations," Hershel said. His voice picked up a slight hint of annoyance—like a parent who was on the verge of telling their child to sit and be quiet because they were tired of explaining why they had to accept reality as it was. "Sophia may very well learn to hunt and clean animals like her Daddy, or she may learn to cook them like her Mama. Maybe she'll choose to do both. Either way, no one would benefit from her having the belief that an animal carcass was never to be handled."

"We're only concerned about Sophia's welfare," Maggie said. "About—what she'll grow up to be."

"I think, if you were to ask Daryl, that's his primary concern, as well," Hershel said. "In fact, he's been worried about just such a thing since I met him. Maggie—I appreciate your concern, and everyone else's concern, but it's simply unfounded."

Daryl couldn't listen to anymore. When Maggie raised her voice with whatever protest followed, Daryl stepped out of Beth's cell. The pile of soiled linens and clothes in his arms felt far heavier than it had before. Some of that, he reasoned, was the fact that he'd been holding it for a while. The other reason, though, was that a great deal more weighed heavy on his shoulders now.

He passed by the cell as quickly as he could—all but breaking into a run—to keep from being noticed and, if he was noticed, to appear as though he were simply passing by and hadn't stopped to hear Maggie's well-prepared argument as to why he shouldn't be allowed to care for Sophia without supervision and the input of at least three other people.

Daryl dropped the laundry where it belonged. He swung through the little area where dishes and such were piled in the plastic tubs where they stored them so that it was easy to set the tubs out for people to use at meals. Daryl rummaged through the tub and found a suitable, plastic mug that Carol could use. He carried it with him out of the prison.

The fires were going and Beth was already working on dinner with the assistance of Axel, who sometimes paid more attention to the girl than seemed appropriate. Still, they weren't alone outside, and Beth could likely use a hand with things the way they were.

Daryl had barely stepped out of the prison before he heard Sophia.

"Dadeeeeeee!" She yelled.

Daryl smiled to himself. He was Dada when she was only conversing with him, but an excited yell could make her trail his name out long enough to make him Daddy—the title which he assumed would one day describe the person that he was becoming for Sophia.

"Don't run, Sophia!" T-Dog called out. He was following a few steps behind the little girl, keeping watch over her while Beth worked, and he smiled at her wild-legged run.

"Don't run," Daryl repeated. She practically skidded to stop when Daryl demanded that she not run. Instead of running, and risking a skinned knee or hand—both of which she had in various stages of recovery already—she walked toward Daryl with something of a hop in her step. When she was close enough that she considered the threat of falling gone, she launched herself at Daryl and wrapped around his leg. He'd have been thrown off of balance if he hadn't prepared for her hug attack.

He reached down and patted her back as T-Dog reached him.

"How are things going?" T-Dog asked, clearly not wanting to say anything that might alert Sophia, especially if the news wasn't good.

Daryl straightened up and nodded his head while Sophia continued to hug his leg contently. He smiled to himself.

"She's good," Daryl said. "Dehydrated. Weak from it. Tired. Gonna get some liquid in her. Get her to sleep some. Couple of days, she'll be back out here trying to take over things from Beth."

T-Dog laughed.

"No offense, but we'll all be happy to see that," T-Dog said. "You have to admit that the food's left a little to be desired."

"I ain't been huntin'," Daryl agreed, "and she ain't been cookin', but it's a taste of what the hell it'd be like if we packed up and moved on."

"Is that something you're considering?" T-Dog asked.

Daryl's stomach tightened a little. To be honest, he hadn't even thought about it, really, until the words came out of his mouth. It had been something he'd thought about from time to time, and maybe even threatened once or twice, but he hadn't thought of it too much lately.

"I think we'll stay," Daryl said. "I just meant—if we had to."

Sophia, tired of hugging his leg, wanted to be picked up and quickly grew impatient waiting for him to notice her upstretched arms. She called out to him, repeatedly, to get his attention. He scooped her up, and he handed her the mug that he'd selected from the dishes box—a plastic one with a cartoon character on it. He'd chosen the plastic one simply because he could be sure that she was going to want to help in some way, and she couldn't break the mug or hurt herself with it.

"Thanks, Dada," Sophia offered, happy with the mug as she gripped it in her hands. Daryl laughed to himself.

"You welcome," he said. "You—wanna go give that to your Mama?" Sophia looked at him, brow furrowed. He nodded his head. "Sophia—you wanna go take that to your Mama?"

"Mama?" Sophia asked.

Daryl assumed that maybe she'd understood, finally, what he'd been telling her for nearly three days, and for all the hours that she didn't sleep—or allow him to sleep—during the night. Her Mama was gone. She wasn't coming back to either of them.

But now she was back, and Daryl nodded.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go see your Mama."

Sophia's bottom lip rolled out like she was about to cry, and she bounced in his arms, kicking her legs somewhat wildly, and accidentally kicking him in the process. Daryl realized that she didn't know what to do. She was confused. She was overwhelmed. And, maybe, she was even a little distrustful that this was some kind of cruel and unexpected trick.

"Shit," Daryl said, tightening his grip on the little girl. "It's OK, Sophia…calm down. Don't wanna go in there like that, do you? You gotta calm down." Seeing that she clearly wasn't going to calm down, though, Daryl tossed a thanks to T-Dog for helping with her while he'd been occupied, and he carried the now-crying child through the prison. Her tears dissolved into the repeated request for "Mama" that she'd howled out over the past few days, and, as it had done every time Daryl had heard it before, the sound nearly ripped his heart in two.

This time, at least, he knew that there was something good to offer Sophia at the end of it all.

And that helped soothe even the ache that he was nursing over Maggie's overheard words to her father.

When Daryl balanced Sophia on one hip and pushed the curtain back, he almost ran into Carol, who was on her way out of the cell, presumably to find them. Her face was drawn up like she was seconds from bursting into tears herself. She reached her arms out, and Sophia immediately stopped crying in the same way that someone might if they were slapped hard across the face.

"Get back in bed, woman," Daryl said, holding tight to Sophia and pointing Carol back toward the bed. "We're comin' to you."

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 **AN: This is for the guest who was concerned about the verisimilitude of the story, and for anyone who doesn't understand why I made the choices I made. I apologize if you feel that it wasn't correctly done. I hope you can understand that it is fiction.**

 **I wanted to address why I made the choices that I have made. The main reason, of course, is that my choices reflect my vision for the story.**

 **As for Carol's current case of dehydration, she's been almost three days without food or water. It has been discussed, already, that she suffered from low body weight/malnutrition because of physical demands and rations within the group. Carol is also the kind that always gives to others first.**

 **Many people are at risk of dying at/around three days without water. Carol has been entirely without water or food for nearly three days. She's been locked in a suffocating, metal and concrete cell for that time. Remember, there's no circulating air or anything at this point. In addition, she had been engaged in a rather strenuous activity (running and fighting for her life) when she got locked in there. She's lactating, which doesn't stop immediately just because she won't be feeding for a while. She's also very claustrophobic, which means that closing herself into that dark, tight space would have been terrifying for her. It would have been a choice she made only because she was sure that she wouldn't survive outside of the cell (since she also lost her knife). Her body would have been flooded with adrenaline many times over (that alone would produce fatigue and exhaustion, especially after the panic-causing issue has passed). She has likely not slept while she's been in there because of panic and anxiety. She would have likely heard Daryl, or believed he would come, so she probably tried to get his attention and called out for him as much as she dared.**

 **I'm no medical doctor, but based on my google research, a little common sense, and some poetic license. I didn't think it was too much of a stretch to have her dehydrated (which can cause a whole host of problems, including fainting/unconsciousness) and, upon finding herself safely in Daryl's arms, allowing herself to simply "let go" for a short spell. I guess you're bothered that Daryl carried her out, since you mentioned that she shouldn't "need a stretcher" (which she didn't have) but that's canon at any rate, and it's certainly something this Daryl would do. I can't see him being like "walk it off, and be prepared to punch your way through whatever Walkers get in our way…"**

 **Maybe that's just me. At any rate, I apologize if my vision of things did not match yours or diminished your enjoyment of the story in any way. It is what it is, and the way I wrote it is simply the way that I saw things happening. Maybe you can understand my perspective now.**

 **For anyone else who read this rambling note, you are free to go. LOL**

 **I do hope you enjoyed the chapter, at least as much as is possible.**


	72. Chapter 72

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"Here, take another swallow," Daryl commanded, offering the mug back toward Carol. She moved to lean up from her position and Daryl dropped a hand behind her to help her sit up and take a mouthful of broth.

"I'd rather have the water," Carol complained after she swallowed down the liquid. She was following his orders, breathing out her words, to allow her vocal cords and throat to rest.

Daryl laughed to himself. He reached for the second mug on the nightstand—one he'd gone for soon after he realized that fully-conscious Carol was going to have requests—and offered it to her. She accepted the mouthful offered to her almost greedily, this time wrapping her hand around the mug. Daryl pulled the mug away from her, though, to keep her from drinking more than what he was allowing her at the moment.

She cut her eyes at him and he smiled to himself. She laughed, quietly.

"You'll get sick if you go too fast," Daryl said. "Hershel said so. And I don't want you arguin' with me 'cause you gonna use up what strength you got to do it."

Carol nodded her understanding. She turned her attention, then, to Sophia. She ran her fingers delicately over Sophia's face and hair, the gesture clearly not bothering the little girl.

For her part, Sophia had responded to her mother's reappearance with a great deal of hugs and sloppy kisses. She'd clung to her mother, determined not to be removed from her presence by anything short of the jaws of life, and Carol had simply let the toddler have her way until she was tired out enough to be satisfied. Then, Carol had simply raised her shirt as an offer to Sophia that she could nurse. Sophia needed no other invitation than that.

She was on her second breast, at this point, and Daryl was pretty sure that the little girl had to be nearly ready to pop. She was hugged against Carol, as Carol lie on the bed, and she was leisurely nursing with her eyes closed. The only evidence that she was even awake, besides the workings of the muscles in her face and the occasional sound of her swallows, was the fact that she hummed to herself, from time to time, in absolute ecstasy over the situation. 

"I promise I fed her while you weren't here," Daryl offered. "Every time she was hungry. I didn't even tell her she weren't hungry when I know she was just wantin' to eat more and didn't really need anymore."

Carol smiled to herself. She turned to look at Daryl. She held his eyes for a moment before she took the hand that had been stroking Sophia's face and used it to gently stroke Daryl's cheek.

"I know you fed her," Carol said.

"She just really likes milk," Daryl offered.

"This is, maybe, the first time she can have all she wants," Carol said. "And—she's not really eating as much as she's just enjoying the comfort."

"Like a pacifier," Daryl offered.

Carol nodded her head, keeping the practice of not using her voice, not even to hum at him, and she turned back to smile at Sophia again. In just the matter of a passing few moments, Sophia had succumbed to the comfort she felt and had clearly fallen asleep. With her face against Carol's chest—balled up in the position she'd chosen, herself, for nursing—she was sleeping with her mouth open next to the nipple that she'd only released because sleep had overtaken her.

Daryl smiled to himself.

Despite the ache in his gut over everything he'd heard earlier, he was happy at the moment. There was no reason, after all, not to be happy. Carol was there. She was going to be fine. Sophia was there. She was safe.

Everything felt right in their small little space in the world.

Daryl reached over and picked up the mug from the nightstand that held the broth. He offered it to Carol.

"Here," he said, bumping her hand with the mug. "Take a swallow."

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Daryl woke to the feeling of Carol moving around next to him. He shifted, not sure for a moment what was going on.

"You OK?" He asked into the darkness of the cell.

"Bathroom," Carol breathed out at him.

He had no idea what time it was, of course, because exact time was a social construct that they'd lost long ago. What he knew was that it was the middle of the night or, at the very least, the middle of their night. The prison was quiet. At the moment, not even the infant that Rick and Lori had brought into the world was making a sound.

Sophia was asleep in her pen where Daryl had tucked her in after a bath, a few coaxed mouthfuls of solid food, and all the milk that she could beg from her mother's body. The cell on either side of theirs was empty, so they'd claimed one for Sophia's cell. Daryl had placed her pen there so that they wouldn't be so crowded in the little cell. They could easily hear her whenever she needed or wanted them, but they also gave her a bit of privacy to start testing out her independence.

Carol crawled over Daryl's body, and Daryl held his hands out to act as support in the darkness while she found her footing. She found the bucket and Daryl heard her relieving herself in the darkness. He leaned over and flicked the lighter. He touched the flame to the cloth wick and the bedside lantern illuminated the space.

"No privacy," Carol teased from her spot. She forgot that she was supposed to be guarding her voice. She croaked out the words and the gravelly laugh that followed.

Daryl decided not to scold her. She was doing well. She'd been to the bathroom several times now to empty her bladder—something that Hershel treated as the most magnificent thing that could happen when Daryl had reported it to him—and she was taking short naps in between drinking broth and water. She'd probably had more liquids since she'd been found than she'd had for some time before getting lost in the tombs.

She could decide, as Hershel said, what she felt up to and what she didn't feel up to. If she felt like talking, and it didn't irritate her throat too badly to make the activity painful for her, then she was welcome to talk. Daryl loved the sound of her voice, however it sounded, because he could still taste the bitter fear that he'd never hear her voice again in any shape or form.

"Sorry," Daryl said. "I ain't lookin'. Just thought you might—wanna see what the hell you doin'. That's all."

"I was teasing," Carol offered. When she was done, she moved to the washing bowl on the dresser to wash her hands, and she dried them off on the towel. When she turned around, still aimlessly drying her already dry hands with the towel, she leaned against the dresser and watched Daryl.

"What?" He asked. She was staring at him rather intently and he found it a bit unnerving. He raised his thumb to his mouth, brushed it against his lower lip in search of any rough or uneven skin, and nipped at the raised bits that he found. "Did I do somethin'?" He added, when Carol continued to look at him, but didn't say anything immediately. She smiled gently and laughed quietly.

"You did a lot," she said. "But—nothing you're in trouble for. I knew you would find me."

"'Bout didn't," Daryl said.

"But you did," Carol said. "And—I knew you would. I knew—I just knew it. And that was the greatest thing that I could think while I was in there. Daryl's coming. Daryl's going to find me. And you did."

Daryl's stomach twisted.

"One of the worst damned feelings was thinkin' that I weren't never gonna find you," Daryl admitted. "That I was gonna let you down. Even if you weren't alive I just…" He broke off and shrugged. He hesitated a moment. He didn't have anything that was too poetic to say to explain his feelings or his actions. "I just needed to find you."

"And you did," Carol said. "You found me—time and again. In more ways than one." She smiled at him. She walked back toward the bed and Daryl drew himself up to make it easier for Carol to make her way onto the mattress and over to her side. He preferred for her to sleep on the inside of the mattress. They hadn't had any problems in the cellblock, but he thought that, just in case anything was to happen, it was better if she was on the inside. It would make her less vulnerable to anyone or anything that might enter the cell with the intention of harming them in some way. Deep in his gut, he knew that such a precaution wouldn't actually matter at all, but little things like taking that precaution helped him to sleep better at night.

When Carol was back on the bed, she worked her way up to the head of it and, reaching her hands out, placed them on either side of Daryl's face before she kissed him. He was barely able to move his own hand out of the way in time for her to kiss his lips.

"You saved me. You've—always saved me. I love you," she breathed against his lips, her voice the quiet breath of air that it had been for most of the time since he'd found her.

Daryl's chest tightened with a rush of emotion. For the words to be nothing more than air, there was enough feeling behind them to affect him.

"You save me, too. More'n you realize. I love you," Daryl said. Carol laughed quietly—one breathy burst.

"I know you love me," she said, allowing her voice to come lightly into play again. She sat back on her feet, but she made no move to go back to sleep, so Daryl made no move to kill the flickering light of the lantern. She could decide when she needed more rest. She could decide, too, when she was ready for more of the liquid that he'd brought, just before bedtime, to replenish that which she'd already consumed. "I do have a—a question, I guess."

"Whatever it is," Daryl said, letting the acknowledgement trail off. Carol didn't need him to say more.

"I was in there—for a long time," Carol said.

"Two and a half days," Daryl said.

"I remember—the first time I had to…use the bathroom," Carol said. Daryl nodded at her. "I didn't know what to do. It was so dark and—I couldn't see anything. I didn't know what was in there and there were Walkers outside. I could hear them scratching on the door. They knew I was in there. I tried to hold it as long as I could, but…"

She broke off. Her voice cracked even more than the sound that Daryl was beginning to mark as a normal rasp that would stay with her for at least a couple of days while everything healed.

Daryl's stomach tightened as he understood.

"You upset 'cause you had to—go to the bathroom?" Daryl asked.

Her chin quivered and Daryl would have rather driven a nail through his foot than have to see her fighting against what she was feeling. He moved toward her and pulled her into him the same way he would if it were Sophia that was about to cry over something that had genuinely hurt her. Daryl held Carol against him.

"Jesus—everybody goes to the bathroom, Carol," Daryl said. "Normal. More'n that—it's fuckin' necessary. Important. First damn time you pissed today, Hershel damn near did a jig. An' you know as good as I do that his ass is ill-equipped to do that these days."

Carol laughed, probably in spite of herself. Daryl continued to hold her because he didn't want her to sit up. He didn't want to see her face if the pain was still there. She rubbed her face against him, practically rooting into his chest. He closed his eyes and savored the sensation of simply holding her so closely.

"How can you—look at me the same when you…cleaned all that up?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed nervously to himself.

"You askin' me how the hell I can love you if you go to the bathroom like everybody else in the whole fuckin' world?" Daryl asked.

"It's different…" Carol offered.

"I wipe Sophia's ass feels like twenty times a day sometimes," Daryl offered. "She ain't never once asked me if I still love her afterwards."

Carol laughed, again, probably in spite of herself.

"It's different…" she repeated. "There's nothing attractive about…that."

Daryl laughed again.

"Shit—I hope if I was to get hurt somehow, and I needed it? Couldn't take care of myself? I hope to hell you'd help me wipe my ass."

"You know I would," Carol declared, pulling away from him. He reached out his hand and mopped away some of the dampness on her face.

"Would you still love me if you had to help me?" Daryl asked.

"Of course," Carol said.

"Would you still—wanna be with me when I was outta the woods?" Daryl asked.

Carol's chin quivered again. She nodded, but didn't verbally respond. Daryl understood that she was holding back some waterworks. She'd get them under control, but if she opened her mouth, her chances of controlling them would drop.

He mopped at the new tears that sprung from her lower lids.

"Carol—you don't got no fuckin' idea what the hell I been through in the past couple days," Daryl said. "No fuckin' idea. And I don't wanna talk about it right now, 'cause now ain't the time. But—I'ma just say you don't know what it's been like for me to think—you weren't comin' back. And I don't say that to make you feel bad, or sad, or whatever the hell it is that you feel. I say that for you to understand that—there ain't a damn thing I care about except for the fact that you back. You're here. You're doin' alright. Hershel says you look good. And every damn thing I want? I got it—right here. I'd take care of you forever, if that's what it took to keep you here."

Daryl wouldn't tell her, right now, everything that he'd been through. He wanted her to have time to rest. He wanted her to have time to deal with some of her own feelings about her experience. But, when she was feeling a little better and he was satisfied that she was sufficiently rested to hear his woes, he already knew that he'd share with her everything that had happened during her absence.

"It doesn't change how you look at me?" Carol asked. There was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and her damp eyes.

"Oh—it changes how the hell I look at you," Daryl said. "Just not the way you thought it would."

The smile was a little more pronounced.

"I'm sorry," Carol said.

"For what?" Daryl asked.

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Everything."

Daryl recognized that kind of apology. It was the kind he'd been conditioned to give as a child. He didn't know what, exactly, he was sorry for in every situation, but he knew that there was likely always a reason that he should be sorry. There was something impulsive that made him want to apologize to the whole damn world for existing—sometimes he still felt the need rising up inside him.

"You don't owe me no apology," Daryl said. "And you don't owe nobody else an apology neither. Come here. You just upset 'cause you tired."

Daryl reached his arms out in Carol's direction to coax her to come back to him and back to bed. She got back into bed and Daryl blew the lamp out before gathering her into his arms. She sighed with satisfaction as she settled there.

"I'm not Sophia," she teased. "You don't have to put me to bed just because I'm upset."

There wasn't any malice in her voice, and Daryl laughed to himself.

"Maybe not," he said. "But if it works, there ain't no need in changin' my strategy. I love you. Close your eyes. It's time to get some sleep now."


	73. Chapter 73

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. I think there's one or two more chapters here, depending on how they work out.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was a certain weight that seemed to be hanging over Daryl. She could practically see it draped across his shoulders like a metal blanket. When the morning came, and she was feeling better, he begged her to take just one more day—and one more night, by extension—to rest before she insisted on getting back to her usual work. A day and a half, he said, of recovery was only fair for two and a half days in the hot, dark isolation cell of what he called "the tombs." Carol thought about arguing with him, but decided against it. She didn't care about proving anything to anyone else, and she was enjoying her time spent with Daryl and Sophia. Besides that, she wanted to do whatever she needed to do to simply help lift the weight off Daryl's shoulders.

For an entire day, though, Carol gave herself over to Daryl's will. Admittedly, it wasn't much of a sacrifice. Where Ed's will would have been to bend or break her, Daryl's was simply to care for her.

Carol couldn't remember the last time that someone had cared for her so thoroughly, so she was feeling no urgent need to tell Daryl that she simply couldn't allow him to continue to fawn all over her.

He brought her meals to her, and his and Sophia's besides, and Carol suspected that he simply liked eating, in private, with her and Sophia as much as he truly felt like she was better off eating away from the crowd. He brought her water for bathing, and plenty of water for drinking, and he brought Sophia's toys so that the little girl was easily entertained in the cell with them.

He took her outside, once, for a long walk around the prison yard while Sophia played, and he let her greet everyone and receive their hugs, warm wishes, and declarations of happiness to see her alive and well, but he stayed close to her at all times—closer than usual. He stayed close enough that he could touch her at all times, and Carol sensed his insecurity and his desire to be in the position to reach her, without any chance of failure at all, were something to happen.

He took her down to Oscar's grave, and Carol stood looking at it for a moment, silently paying her respect, to the man that had held off the Walkers long enough for her to even take refuge in the little isolation cell that had saved her life. She let her eyes drift over to the other grave.

"Mine?" She asked.

Daryl hovered nearby, smoking a cigarette and watching Sophia as she uprooted the grass, in a small patch of ground that held her interest, with her fingers.

Daryl hummed at her.

"It's just—an empty grave," Carol said.

"There are some things I'm pretty fuckin' glad of," Daryl mused. Carol laughed to herself at the sentiment. He hadn't meant it as a joke, really, but it still struck her.

The grave, which was really nothing more than a spot of grass, was marked with a cross that had been nailed together like Oscar's. In front of the cross, on the ground, was the letter "C" marked out with pebbles and other small stones. Resting in the "C," and around it, were several wilting and browning Cherokee Roses.

"You brought me flowers?" Carol said.

Daryl just frowned in response.

"Sophia brought them pebbles," Daryl offered. "I made the—I put 'em there, but she found 'em."

As if to illustrate her technique for Carol, Sophia walked over to Daryl. She was unbothered by the dark dirt smeared on her cheek and clothes. She was unbothered by the fact that her digging had her looking like she was wearing dirt gloves. She walked over and patted Daryl, open-palmed, on the leg as high as she could reach.

"Here, Da-dee," she offered. Carol smiled to herself. She was beginning to draw the syllable out. She was beginning to mimic what they said—how Carol and Daryl referred to the man who thanked her profusely for whatever she'd dug up to give him.

"What is it?" Carol asked, watching Sophia trot back to her patch to continue her work. Daryl turned her gift over in his hand and looked at it.

"Spent shell," he said. "Too old to be one of ours. Some relic of some asshole reloadin' his pistol. If she keeps diggin', I bet she finds more."

Carol laughed to herself.

"Do you think—it's a bad thing that our daughter is excavating old shells from out of the ground of…of the prison yard where she lives?" Carol asked.

Daryl turned the shell over in his hand. He stared at it, hard, and then he glanced back toward Sophia. She might find more shells, but she wouldn't find them immediately. She'd plopped down on her bottom, near her hole, and she was smiling broadly at a wiggling earthworm, barely big enough to see from the short distance between them, that was squirming around on her open palm.

"I'm not an expert in the Mayberry type childhoods," Daryl offered. "But—I know a thing or two about shitty ones." He shrugged his shoulder and pocketed the spent shell. Carol assumed he would throw the thing away later, keeping Sophia from finding it again, because it could be considered some kind of hazard for a small child. "I like to think she's doin' alright."

Carol's stomach tightened as she watched his face. Without meaning to, she'd struck some kind of nerve—and it was obviously one that was very tender at the moment. Daryl didn't look like he wanted to scold her for it. Instead, he looked like he simply wanted to melt away and, perhaps, get absorbed by the very dirt in which Sophia was digging.

His shoulders slumped and he turned, heading back toward the prison.

"Daryl?" Carol called after him. He didn't respond. He simply kept walking. He only slowed down when he heard Sophia—noticing his departure and running after him as fast as she could—call out to him a few times.

"Daddeeeeeee! Daddeeee!" She called, determined to get his attention.

Daryl stopped, letting the toddler catch up to him, and he scooped her up before kissing her forehead and continuing his walk toward the prison.

Carol didn't take his silence personally. She knew, at this point in her life, how to tell the difference between hurt and anger. She wanted nothing more than to soothe the obvious hurt that the man she loved clearly felt. She followed after him, giving him his space and silence, determined to simply be there when he felt ready to share with her.

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"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Carol asked, slipping into the cell and closing the privacy curtain they'd hung using a blanket.

Daryl reclined on their bed while Sophia—whom he'd wiped down, and whose hands he'd washed before he'd covered her spot on the bed with a towel— sat near him playing with the multi-colored shapes she had, doing her best to force them into the matching shapes on a box that, later, Daryl would empty for her to do the whole thing again. Scattered over the blanket were also some assorted plastic horses and dinosaurs which she unceremoniously forced through the shaped holes from time to time. When she couldn't get a piece to go through, she would hold it out to Daryl and demand his attention until he helped her manipulate the box to find the right shape.

He didn't immediately answer Carol. First, he paused to help Sophia get a green triangle into the triangle shaped hole.

"Triangle," he said, holding up the green plastic toy. "Can you say it? Triangle?"

She said it, though not with even the same level of enunciation as Daryl. He ruffled her hair, pointed to the hole, and watched with a half-smile as she pushed the triangle through the hole and grinned at him for approval. He praised her abilities.

"Was it—thinking about…your past?" Carol asked. Daryl shrugged his shoulders in a jerky sort of motion. "Talk to me? Please?" Carol prompted. She walked over and sat down on the side of the bed, as close to Daryl as she could get. Her stomach ached at the look on his face—around his eyes. He was hurting, and it wasn't something as simple as a festering splinter that she could remove or a cut she could stitch. "Please," she pressed, putting her hand gently on his thigh.

It took him a moment longer—and a brief explanation to Sophia about why it was that a dinosaur didn't really fit well through any of the holes—before Daryl finally spoke to Carol.

"They don't want me to be Sophia's daddy," Daryl offered. Sophia looked up at him, not fully comprehending what he said, and she offered him a horse that she was currently trying to force through a square opening.

"Horsies don't go in the shapes real good, Soph," Daryl offered, passing her the horse back after he'd tried it on several different possible holes.

"What do you mean?" Carol asked. "Who doesn't want you to be Sophia's daddy?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders. Carol had already accepted that the shrug wasn't an answer. It wasn't meant to be a real answer. It was simply a response that he could give her while he bought himself a moment to get his feelings under control.

"Maggie, mostly," Daryl said. "Glenn with her, I guess. Lori. Whoever else they been talkin' to."

Carol felt like she'd been punched in the sternum. She shook her head.

"I don't understand," Carol said. "It's not—nobody can feel like you should or shouldn't be Sophia's daddy. You are her daddy."

Sophia looked at Carol. Her brow was furrowed. She didn't know what was going on, but it was clear that she knew something was going on, and she could pick up on enough words to know that it involved her and Daryl. She paused in her playing for a moment, waited to piece together what was going on, and then returned to her work with a little more hesitation than before.

"She's listening," Carol offered. "So—I'm going to be as careful about it as I can. Daryl—I don't know what you're talking about, but…you are her daddy."

"Yeah, long as you here, everyone pretends that's OK with 'em," Daryl said.

"Someone said something to you?" Carol asked.

"Offered to take care of her," Daryl said. "Maggie said she and Glenn would."

Carol sucked in a breath. She wanted to make sense of it all. She wanted to understand.

Part of her did understand. Part of her instinctively knew what had happened. She longed for her gut instinct not to be true, though.

"To help," Carol said. "Everyone would—want to help. They wouldn't want you to feel like you were alone in the world."

Daryl looked at her like he was bored with her answer more than anything else.

"I'm not an idiot," he said.

"I know you're not," Carol clarified quickly.

"I know what the hell she was sayin'," Daryl said. "And you don't 'cause you weren't there. They ain't wanted to help. They didn't want my ass involved. I overheard Maggie talkin' to Hershel about what she was thinkin'."

Sophia abandoned her toys. She was done with them—suddenly and completely. She stood up on the bed and started toward the edge to beg movement to the floor, but Carol caught her.

"We're staying up here, sweetheart," Carol said. "We're staying in here for a few minutes. OK? Then we'll get you a good bath."

"Please," Sophia offered, trying to go around Carol and get her freedom.

"No, Sophia," Carol said sharply. "We're not leaving the cell right now. Mommy is talking to Daddy. Play with your toys."

Sophia's eyes went wide. She wasn't accustomed to Carol being sharp with her—especially not when she was still wallowing in the fresh bliss of having her back, and certainly not in the latter part of the day when she was beginning to get a bit cranky. She backed up, dropping down on her bottom, and opened her mouth in the kind of silent cry that would come out, later, as a loud burst of uncontrolled sadness.

Daryl grabbed her under the arms and dragged her up the bed so that he could hold her. She rolled over in his arms and scrubbed her face against his chest, never fully giving into the eardrum bursting cry that Carol expected. She was tired and, suddenly, she seemed to realize how tired she really was. Instead of a loud burst of crying, she settled for rather quiet and pathetic sobs against Daryl's chest as he patted her back.

"She just gets bored," Daryl offered quietly.

"It won't hurt her to be bored sometimes," Carol said. "I'm not worried about Sophia. She's fine. She's tired and she needs a bath. After that, she'll eat and everything will be wonderful in her world. I'm worried about you."

"They don't think I got what the hell it takes to teach her how to be no decent person," Daryl said. "Maybe they're right. I didn't come from shit, Carol. I ain't never been worth shit."

"You're worth the world to me," Carol said. She offered him the best smile she could muster when everything inside her hurt. She nodded her head toward Sophia. "You're her world. Her protector. Her provider. Her—comfort. And her role model. Isn't that worth something? Isn't that worth more than what—than what Maggie, or Lori, or anybody else around here thinks?"

Daryl frowned. It looked like it pained him to swallow. Carol could relate. Her throat ached, too. Sophia, unaware of the situation, and her earlier sadness forgotten, rested against Daryl's chest with her bottom up in the air, and she swayed it, from side to side, to go with the tune that she began to hum to herself.

Carol laughed to herself, thankful for the little girl's antics, and leaned to gently bop her hand against the swaying bottom. Sophia hummed in disagreement and put her hand up, pushing back at Carol's hand.

And for the first time in a little while, Daryl laughed. He forgot, for a second, that he was supposed to be feeling like he didn't belong in the family. He swiped at Carol's hand, too, joining in with Sophia.

"Stop it, Mama," he commanded when Sophia offered a half-sleep-slurred "Stop" to Carol. Still, Sophia clearly liked the game because, when Carol stopped, Sophia called out to her and, grinning as she looked at her with her face against Daryl's chest, she wagged her behind some more in the same manner so that Carol would playfully pat her again and start the game once more.

By the time it was done, and Sophia sat up and found a renewed interest in her toys, Daryl looked lighter and happier.

Carol smiled at him and moved closer, leaning over him so that she could reach him. She pressed her lips to his, and she returned for a second kiss when she tasted how good the first was. She smiled at him when she pulled away, but then she frowned when he frowned in response.

"You deserve better'n me," Daryl said. "You both do."

"Daryl—if I searched the whole world over," Carol offered, "and if I was left with my choice of…of any man left alive? I still wouldn't find a better man to…to love me. Or to be Sophia's daddy."

"You're just sayin' that," Daryl offered.

Carol smiled to herself and shook her head.

"I'm not," she said. "You're the best man that I've ever known. And you're the best daddy in the whole world. Sophia agrees with me, and you know it."

"She's just a baby," Daryl said.

"And? That doesn't make her opinion any less valid," Carol said. "In fact—it makes it even more valid. There's nobody I'd rather be Sophia's daddy."

"Yeah?" Daryl pressed.

Carol's chest flooded with warmth. She leaned and kissed him again, gently pressing her lips to his and holding it for a second.

"Yeah," she said with a smile when she pulled away. "I know I'm too old and—my body would never let me. But if I could? I'd have a dozen children with you, Daryl. And I'd want every single one of them to be just like you."

He laughed to himself.

"OK, now I know you're full of shit," he said.

"I'm not," Carol said. "A dozen. A baker's dozen, even." She laughed to herself. "We'd have little Dixons coming out of every nook and cranny around this whole prison, and there's nobody else that I would rather have as the daddy to my—to my baker's dozen."

Daryl laughed to himself, and he worked the tops of her arms in his hands as he held her close to him. Her back felt strained from the position, but she wouldn't dare ask to move at the moment.

"You'd go crazy with all that to watch out for," Daryl said.

"That's the thing," Carol said. "I could do it because—I know you'd never let me do it alone."

"No," Daryl said.

"Because you're a good daddy," Carol offered. Her heart picked up a couple of beats. She could see it in his face that he was relaxing. Maybe he was finally believing her. Maybe the thought of chasing after twelve or thirteen rambunctious children simply amused him to the point that whatever cruelty had touched him didn't hurt so much. Maybe the realization that he'd be there—happily chasing after those twelve or thirteen little ones—made him accept that she wasn't just feeding him some kind of line.

"I love you," he offered.

"I know you do," Carol said. "And I love you."

Daryl nodded. It was his way of saying that he knew, and he accepted her love.

"I love—bein' Sophia's daddy," he offered, a hint of melancholy dropping into his tone as, perhaps, he remembered that someone might have tried to take that happiness away from him.

"She loves you," Carol assured Daryl. "And she's certainly happy that you're her daddy." Daryl nodded his head. He chewed at his lip, and nodded again. Carol understood. He was trying not to let anything out. He didn't want to let anything out. So, she decided to help him and offer him a welcomed distraction. "Come on, Daddy," she said softly. "Let's go get some water and give Sophia a bath."


	74. Chapter 74

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **There should be one more after this one to close out this "part" of the story. Remember that "Daddy" is a continuation of the story.**

 **I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

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"She's a beautiful little girl," Carol assured Lori as she rocked the sleeping infant. Lori smiled from her bed.

"Judith," Lori repeated. She'd told Carol the baby's name before but, perhaps, she thought Carol might have forgotten.

"Judith," Carol echoed to make it clear that she was capable of retaining the information.

"I'm glad to have you back," Lori said. "I'm not producing enough milk, as it is, and…Daryl wasn't even working on weaning Sophia. I was beginning to worry about the formula supply."

Carol focused on her breathing. She kept it calm. She kept herself purposefully calm.

"It was Daryl who found that formula," Carol said. "For Sophia."

"She doesn't need milk as much at this age," Lori said, conveniently deaf, as she always was, to things that didn't support the way that she saw things in her head.

"The nutrition is still very important for her," Carol offered. She changed the subject again, carefully directing the conversation back where she wanted it to be. She didn't want to fight over milk, but if Lori tried to take it out of Sophia's mouth, the way that Carol saw it, she would very well end up in a fight over it. She didn't want that, though, so she steered the conversation where she wanted it to go. "I'm glad the surgery went well…you're recovering well."

"It wasn't ideal," Lori said. "And—it's going to be a slow recovery."

"But a slow recovery is better than no recovery," Carol offered, wanting to cut off the lamentations of Lori before they had time to fully blossom into all their glory.

Carol paid very little attention to the relationship between Rick and Lori—mostly because she was too busy with her own life and the expectations that she had of herself, in regard to what she would accomplish each day for the group, to put too much into the business of others. Things had been stressed between the couple since the beginning, though, and there had been a great many dips and curves in their relationship, especially surrounding Shane and everything that had taken place there.

Carol would, normally, not bury her fingers too deeply into anyone's wounds. Sometimes, though, she knew that life required such a thing.

"At least, with you surviving the surgery," Carol offered, still cuddling the sleeping newborn, "nobody has to figure out—who would take care of Carl and Judith."

There was a burst of insincere laughter from Lori as she reclined in bed.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"Only that, if you hadn't made it," Carol explained, forcing as much innocence as she could, "there would have been the need to figure out who would care for Carl and Judith. We couldn't very well let them…run feral."

"Rick would have taken care of them," Lori said. "Of course, he would have appreciated the help, but…"

"Some of Rick's choices have been a little questionable," Carol offered. "Even you have to admit that he hasn't always proven to be entirely stable." Carol watched Lori's face. The woman wanted to argue with her, but she really couldn't. Their marriage had problems—and a lot of them. Lori, herself, had often questioned Rick's actions and motives. Carol pressed a bit more. "If it had been up to Rick, we probably wouldn't have this place. We'd have moved on. We might still be living on the road—and we would have never had the equipment that Hershel needed for the operation."

"Rick's been under a lot of stress," Lori said. Carol could tell it was difficult for her to fully defend him, but she clearly felt that she needed to do that. "But—he's doing the best he can."

Carol swallowed down the smile she felt creeping onto her lips.

"Who would you have wanted to care for Judith?" Carol asked. Lori furrowed her brows at Carol in anger or frustration—Carol didn't care which. "If Rick's going to make poor decisions, it's clear that he's not capable of making the good decisions necessary to take care of Carl and Judith—especially Judith. She's so small and vulnerable."

"He's her father," Lori said blankly. "Of course, he'd care for her and…make the best decisions for her that he could."

"Are you sure that he's her father?" Carol asked. "She doesn't really look like Rick. And—after everything with Shane…"

"Just what are you getting at?" Lori asked sharply.

"Only that you can't be certain," Carol said.

"I'm certain that Rick's Judith's father," Lori said. "And that's all that anybody needs to know."

"And even though he makes poor decisions, sometimes, you're still trusting him with your children?" Carol asked. "You still want him to care for them if something were to happen to you?"

"What the hell is your problem?!" Lori barked. It was loud. It echoed in the cement and metal structure that they called home. It scared the infant in Carol's arms and Carol shushed her and rocked her, finding it easy enough to get her to settle when she hadn't truly wanted to wake in the first place.

"It hurts," Carol said. "Doesn't it? Even when you, yourself, have so many problems with Rick that…you don't even stay in the same cell, it hurts to think that someone might doubt him with his children. It hurts that they might ask you who you would rather care for them. It hurts to be reminded that Judith is very likely not Rick's biological child." Lori's face went through a few expressions, and Carol let her run the gamut. Finally, Lori looked a little sad, perhaps, and chose to freeze there. Carol stood up, carefully. She crossed the small space the cell allowed them, and she gently deposited the baby into Lori's arms. "You don't want people to question Rick's parentage. And you don't want them to take the children away from him just because he may be human, and he may not always do everything so that—so that absolutely everyone agrees with him." Carol shook her head. "I don't know, for certain, if it was you or Maggie that started with the idea, but you can pass it around. Daryl is Sophia's father. And—I won't say he's perfect, because nobody is, but he's the best father that she could have. Ever. And he would make the best decisions for her that anyone could make. So, if something were to happen to me? I need you—and everyone else—to remember that."

Lori simply nodded. She looked properly scolded and, despite some pressing for information, Carol got nothing out of her beyond a nod. Carol finally accepted it, though, because she had other things to attend to and, somehow, she was certain that Lori understood her—especially now that her own position in life was somewhat problematic.

"Carol," Lori called as Carol started out of the cell. Carol stopped and turned back. Maybe she expected an apology or something similar. She should have known better. "I have a manual pump. If you have extra milk…not that I'm asking you to do it for me, but…Judith…and the formula supply is so limited…"

Carol laughed to herself.

"I barely make enough for Sophia," she offered, stepping out of the cell without another word.

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Carol understood that Maggie was young and, as such, she still had a great deal of maturing to do. She also understood that she really meant no harm—as Carol was sure that Lori, deep down, really meant no harm—but that didn't mean that harm couldn't come from simply being inconsiderate.

Maggie was almost looking like a scolded child as she sat, mostly sulking, around the area where they were scrubbing clothing and linens in hot water. Carol ignored the pout on her face in much the same way as she ignored whenever Sophia got an equally bothered expression. She would continue to talk with her about the problem, but she wasn't going to coddle and comfort her over something that she needed to experience.

Carol invited Maggie to air her concerns, rather than to keep them as some kind of festering collection of things to hold against Daryl.

"You're not even worried?" Maggie asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"I'm a mother. I'm always worried. Literally. I worry constantly. But—I worry less when Sophia's with Daryl than I worry any other time."

"He lets her play near the fences," Maggie said. "Where there are Walkers."

"He limits her closeness to the Walkers," Carol said. "We want her to understand that Walkers are dangerous. They're something to be careful of, but we don't want her so terrified of them that she's too frozen to protect herself when she's big enough to do that. And—when she gets a little bigger and a little better able to understand safety, we'll start teaching her how to defend herself. Against Walkers or anyone else that would hurt her."

"He lets her play with dead animals," Maggie said.

"You make it sound like she's constantly playing with rotting carcasses," Carol said. "Daryl hunts. He intends to teach Sophia to hunt. Part of hunting is accepting life and death as a necessary cycle. Daryl wants to teach Sophia that. Another part of hunting is retrieving the animals that you killed. And they must be dead, Maggie, in order for them to be turned into stews or…to be roasted, or whatever."

"I'm not stupid, Carol," Maggie scolded.

"I never said you were," Carol said. "But—still another part of hunting is preparing the animals to be cooked. Cleaning them. Sophia wants to help her daddy do everything she can. And she believes that she can do anything that he can do. And he believes that she can do anything he can do. So—while she's not ready to handle a knife and clean the kills, she can help him take them out of his sacks, and she can help him do other things to prepare them to come to me so I can cook them. I handle dead animals, too, Maggie—and so do you. It's just that, once they're on your plate, it seems that you forget what we're dealing with."

"I guess it just—looks a lot different to see a child, Sophia's age, lining dead squirrels up on the ground."

Carol laughed to herself.

"Because you're not seeing what it really is," Carol said. "It's a girl, Sophia's age, lining up the squirrels for her daddy, squirrels that he hunted so that she and everyone else can eat, so that he can clean them quickly—and have more time to play with her." She sighed. "Maggie—I want to make one thing perfectly clear. Daryl and I have talked about Sophia—about the world that she's going to have to call home. The only world she's going to know. We don't want her to be sheltered. We want her to be prepared. And that means prepared for the hard things, and the dirty things, and the scary things, just as much as it means being prepared for the good things. Do you and Glenn eventually want children?"

"Yeah," Maggie said, nodding her head. She avoided eye contact with Carol, but Carol wasn't offended by that. Her pride was aching. Carol knew, for some, wounded pride could hurt more than a third-degree burn.

"I hope you have them. All you want," Carol said, doing her best to soothe just enough of the ache to keep Maggie listening. "And when you do? I hope everyone trusts you to make the best decisions that you can for your children. Because, as parents, that's what you're always going to try to do. That doesn't mean, of course, that you'll always be successful, but it does mean that you'll always try."

"I understand," Maggie offered.

"And people will always think they know better when they're looking in from the outside," Carol offered. Maggie nodded again. "You'll make the best decisions for your children. But Daryl and me? We're the ones that have an invested interest in making the best decisions for Sophia. And—while I am immensely thankful to you for wanting to make sure that Sophia is taken care of in the event that I'm not able to take care of her? You need to remember that—when life leaves my body? Daryl's the only other person who knows what it's like to love Sophia so completely. He's her daddy, and he always will be. Nobody should ever try to change that."

"That's what Daddy said," Maggie said, smiling to herself, just barely, as the corners of her mouth turned up.

"Listen to your daddy," Carol offered. "He's a wise man." She reached over and patted Maggie's leg—a show of affection to soothe over any hurt that she might be feeling. Maggie patted Carol's hand in response and offered her a soft smile. "It's OK," she offered, even though Maggie never put words behind the apology that Carol could see behind her eyes. It was difficult for some people to get those words out, and Carol had learned that she'd rather have a sincere, but unspoken apology, than copious amounts of unmeant words. "Your heart's in the right place. You've just—still got a lot to learn about what's important. What really matters."

"And that only comes with age?" Maggie said, some teasing to her tone.

"And experience," Carol agreed. "For me? It's mostly the experience. Of course, part of it is learning who not to listen to as much as it is learning who you should listen to. I know your ideas weren't all your own."

"Lori," Maggie offered.

"Like I said," Carol said, "part of it's always going to be learning—what to ignore. Daryl's not Rick. But then, neither is Glenn. Or your daddy." She laughed to herself and shrugged her shoulders. "Some days, Rick's not even Rick. The trick, maybe, is appreciating what everyone has to offer and, when it comes to your own little family, choosing the best thing for you…not for anybody else."

"Glenn," Maggie said, smiling to herself.

Carol nodded her head.

"And Daryl for Sophia and me," she agreed.


	75. Chapter 75

**AN: Here we are, the final chapter here. Remember that this universe is continued in "Daddy," so you can read that if you'd like to spend a little more time with this particular version of the Dixons.**

 **I hope you enjoy the final chapter! Let me know what you think!**

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There were many mornings when Daryl's favorite part of waking up was Carol greeting him with a smile, and asking if he might want to start their day off in the best way possible. There was no such thing as a bad choice for morning sex, in Daryl's opinion. Whether Carol woke up with something new on her mind, whether it ended in laughter over things not going quite as planned or shared congratulations over things going even better than planned, or whether it was just a quiet, lazy time spent coaxing sensations from each other's bodies, Daryl didn't think he'd ever been truly disappointed by anything that they'd done together. He was always more than happy to sacrifice a little sleep—because if it was going to happen, it had to happen before Sophia got up—for the time they could spend together.

Carol had woken him by lighting their lamp after a very early morning escape from the bed to relieve herself. She'd come to him, nuzzling him awake and growling a quiet request in his ear for his attentions. She'd been hungry for his affection—whatever form that might take. The sleepy smiles and kisses had given way to sleepy sex that was warm, and comfortable, and allowed Daryl the opportunity to smell, taste, and caress the woman he loved—the woman he'd feared that he'd lost.

She'd curled up against him, when they were done, and she'd fallen back asleep in his arms. He'd napped with her, but he'd woken before she did—before any of the prison had, from what he could tell. Daryl eased up and out of the bed. He brushed his lips across her face and whispered close to her ear.

"I love you, woman," he offered. He watched her lips for a twitch or the hint of a smile. Her breathing remained steady, though, and Daryl knew that she was too far away from him—hopefully in some beautiful, wonderful dream creation—to hear the words. He also knew that it didn't matter. Not really. Whether she heard them or not, she knew them to be true.

Daryl relieved himself, washed his hands and face, and then he dressed as quietly and as quickly as he could. Before he left the cell, he checked one more time to make sure that Carol was sleeping well, and he blew out the lamp before taking his boots out into the corridor.

Daryl found a seat on one of the steps leading up to the second level and worked his way into his boots. The prison was silent. Daryl felt like he could almost hear his own breath echoing around him in the profound silence.

He walked carefully, more aware of the sound of his footsteps than usual. He slipped into the cell where Sophia slept, lit the lamp, and held it in his hand as he peeked over the side of her pen.

He expected to find her every bit as lost in sleep as her mother. Instead, he found her looking up at him with her big brown eyes. She was clearly comfortable and satisfied—she'd found no reason to wake them yet—and she was cuddling with her lamb. She tossed the lamb to the side and grinned at Daryl when he peeked over the side at her.

"Daddy," she mused. Daryl smiled to himself. He could hear every bit of the affection in her voice that was evident on her features.

"Hey, Soph," Daryl responded quietly. "Why ain't you asleep like everybody else?"

She responded by sitting up and moving everything in her pen farther away from her. She cleared her space, rolled over, and pushed herself up. Holding onto the side, she was practically touching her face to Daryl's. The grin hadn't faded in the least.

"Hi, Daddy," she offered. "Hi. Hi. Hi." She repeated. Daryl laughed to himself and she echoed his laughter, much more loudly than he had. He shushed her, not wanting to be the reason that the entire prison had to throw in the towel and commit to being awake.

"Good mornin', Sophia," Daryl offered, scooping her out of the pen, somewhat awkwardly, because he didn't want to drop the burning oil lamp. He put the lamp down and rummaged around in Sophia's things. He gathered a clean change of clothes, a clean cloth diaper, and the little girl's shoes by arranging them all on top of one another before he scooped them up with one hand. He blew out the lamp and carried the toddler with him. As he walked, she grabbed his face, held it in her hands, and gave him a slobbery kiss on the cheek that ended in a loud smack—the sound of which only served to make her laugh more as she wiggled against him.

When he had her in the room they used for sorting everything—especially laundry—and for storing dishes and such, he put down Sophia's things, cleared a space on the table, and took one of the towels from the stack they kept there. Still holding her, he spread the towel out, one-handed, on the table. Then he dampened a rag in the large wooden washbowl and carried it over to the table.

Sophia understood what was taking place, and she didn't fight him. She allowed him to strip her down naked and to wipe her down quickly with the rag, paying special attention to anywhere that might have been soaking in urine for the last little bit. She allowed him to pin on the clean diaper and to cover it with one of the lined diaper covers they'd found, and she allowed him to dress her in her clothes. She pushed against him—her effort to help him—when he worked her feet into the shoes and pressed the Velcro straps into place.

She hummed at him when he picked her up, tossed all the used things into the laundry pile, and carried her over to the washbowl. Daryl dipped his fingers into the water, dampened them, and used them to comb through Sophia's straight hair and push it back out of her eyes.

He accepted the hug of thanks—because that's how he thought of it—that she gave him by leaning her face against him as he carried her outside. He patted her back as he walked through the yard.

They were working on getting the dividing fences down. They were already recycling those fences and beginning to put up the framework for the pens where they would pen up livestock they managed to trap and domesticate. In the lower corners, the ground was being broken for their crops. Daryl had some ideas for trapping and breeding rabbits for food when game was scarce.

This place was a prison. It had marked the end of freedom for some people—the end of life for others. For his family, though, this place marked the beginning of a new life. It was becoming a home with each passing day.

Daryl stopped walking, his stomach clenching at the thoughts that ran through his mind. He smiled to himself, squeezed Sophia affectionately, and leaned forward to balance her little feet on the ground. As she often did, early in the morning when she was just waking and getting her sea legs for the day, she wobbled for a second before she was confidently steady and started off to begin her little adventures.

It would be at least fifteen or twenty minutes before she realized she hadn't had breakfast. The tiny frog that caught her attention—one of many that strayed too far from one creek or the other that surrounded the prison—and was running for his life, would hold her interest for a bit. She'd chase after him. She'd mimic him. She'd watch him and, probably, fall down a half a dozen times in her short-lived pursuit of him. She'd laugh at his hopping—and maybe a loud croak if he gave her one—and she'd cry when she ultimately realized he was still too fast and she was still too small to catch him.

And then, Daryl knew, she'd turn around—wherever she was in the yard—and she'd look for him. He'd surprise her, as he always did, because he'd be close by. And she'd call out for him. Maybe she'd do it through her sobs of disappointment, even. She'd look to him to make it all right.

And he would make it all right. He'd scoop her up, brush off the excess dirt that he could, and he'd take her to find her mama—who would be glad for the extra sleep—if milk might soothe her sadness. Maybe, even, he'd catch her that frog that she wanted so much, and he'd let her pet it between the eyes and on its soft belly. He'd teach her about how soft frogs were and how happy they looked when they were soothed into actually calming in your hands. Maybe, one day, he'd take her down to the creek, and he'd show her how to catch the biggest ones so her mother could cook them, but that was for another time. Today, he'd simply soothe over her sadness.

Because that was what Daddy was supposed to do.

Daryl sat down on the ground and smoked a cigarette while Sophia chased her hopping friend in the damp grass.

His old man had always made things pretty clear for him. He'd been mostly born to be a waste of time and space. He was the kind of man that wasn't meant to ever have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. He would never be anything, and he wasn't worth anything. No self-respecting woman would ever want the likes of him, because he was only good for one thing, and that was ruining her life.

Rooster Dixon had made it clear exactly what he thought of both his boys, and what his predictions were for the rest of their sorry ass lives.

And, Daryl knew, even though it made his gut churn to think it, that some people still saw him that way—maybe they always would.

But Carol saw him as something different. And Sophia saw him as something different.

And, because of them, he could feel it—rolling right along in his gut with everything else. He was becoming something different.

He might not have a pot to piss in, but he had a bucket, and that would do in a pinch. He didn't have a window all his own, per se, but he wasn't too damned good to carry the bucket to the latrine or to rinse it with creek water.

Whether or not he was patted on the back and lauded for his accomplishments, he knew that half the people around him wouldn't eat regularly—and wouldn't have eaten many days in the past – if it hadn't been for him. They wouldn't have a lot of the comforts that made them happy as they went on through their lives.

He was worth the world to his little family. That was one thing he had. It was one thing that nobody could take away from him. He had a family all his own.

Carol wanted him. She loved him. No matter if he always deserved it or not, she loved him. She didn't just make him feel like she tolerated him or put up with him, she made him feel like he was a blue-ribbon prize. The absolute best in show.

And he loved her more than he loved his own life.

Sophia loved him. She didn't know he didn't deserve it. She didn't know he was born to be worth nothing—a piece of trash just like his father before him. She didn't know he had been born with the destiny to be the worst father in the world—if he ever became a father at all. She'd already had a shit father, even though she didn't know that, either.

All Sophia knew was that Daryl was Daddy. And Daddy, in Sophia's book, seemed to be a pretty good guy—no matter who might disagree with her.

"Daddeeee," Sophia yelled, standing up and searching him out. He was about seven feet away from her, and she grinned at him when he waved at her.

"What you need?" He asked.

"Daddy!" She repeated, waving her hand at him, enthusiastically. "Come, Daddy!"

Daryl smiled to himself.

"I guess I knew I was about to have to catch me a frog, right Soph?" He called out. She probably hadn't understood everything he'd said. She didn't really need to, though.

"Right, Daddy!" She called out to him, continuing to wave him over. She understood everything that mattered to her, and she knew that her understanding of the current situation was right, because Daryl snubbed out his cigarette and got up before walking toward the area where she would point out the small frog for him to scoop up as it tried desperately to make one last escape.

Daryl's old man might have been right all along. Maybe Daryl was born to be nothing but a worthless waste of time and space that was no damned good to anybody. Maybe he was born to be nothing and a nobody.

But Daryl Dixon knew that, no matter what he was born to be, he was becoming a hell of a lot more.

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 **AN: Thank you so much for reading! I had a great time writing it, so I hope you enjoyed reading it.**

 **I hope to see you down the road a piece, reading something else!**

 **Don't forget to let me know what you think!**


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